


Hold Your Peace

by GrayceAdamsArchive



Series: Speak Now [1]
Category: Phineas and Ferb
Genre: ??? - Freeform, Anal Fingering, Anal Sex, Blood, Blow Jobs, Character Death, Deaf Character, Drug Abuse, Face-Riding, Fake Marriage, Fake Relationship, Fake!Married, Fingering, Fluff, Friends to Lovers, Frottage, Gun Violence, Guns, Human AU, Hurt/Comfort, Intercrural Sex, M/M, Masturbation, Mild Gore, Miscommunication, Mutual Pining, Needles, O.W.C.A., OCs everywhere, OWCA, Oral Sex, Rimming, Skinny Dipping, Trypanophobia, UST, Undercover, Undercover as a Couple, Unrealistic Sex, abuse of mini golf, always use lube and condoms kids dont be like these guys, and also nemeses, character death is not miggs or peter i dont do half otp kills, fake married trope, faux spy technology, faux villain technology, fear of needles, flimsy excuses to make them fuck, human owca agents au, mentions of noncon exhibitionism, noncon drug abuse, tags to be updated as needed, the author acts like they know what theyre doing but they actually dont, they do the nasty and they do it a fucking lot, theyre lying to themselves and they do it a lot, this is too james bond to be good im sorry
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-03-15
Updated: 2017-05-19
Packaged: 2018-05-26 23:17:04
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 28
Words: 86,265
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6260002
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/GrayceAdamsArchive/pseuds/GrayceAdamsArchive
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>The tenuous balance Peter and Miggs have been maintaining between their day jobs and their alteregos becomes even more difficult when Peter asks Miggs to help him with an undercover assignment.</p><p> <b>I need you to marry me. </b></p><p> </p><p>EDIT: (8/18/2017) It's been recently brought to my attention that someone on Wattpad has been reposting HYP under the title "A Troubled Time" under the username @ryanterry7 pretending to be me. This is NOT me, I only post my work to here and occasionally my tumblr. They've also changed Peter and Miggs to be Perry and Heinz. If you see this fic anywhere else or edited in any way, IT IS NOT ME. IT HAS BEEN STOLEN. PLEASE REPORT IT AND MESSAGE ME ON TUMBLR @UNEXISTINATOR OR TWITTER @PANDASHRINE SO I CAN TOO.</p><p>EDIT: (11/25/17) I've moved! I'm now under users/LeeBarnett ! <b>This is an old draft!</b> I'm going to start reposting HYP under my new account with some edits some point soon, so check my new account for a better version of this story! (I just didnt wanna lose all the lovely comments forever wheeze)</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. A Favor

**Author's Note:**

> It's my two year wedding anniversary today, and I've been itching to start posting some fic, so I thought I'd start putting up the fake!married AU I've been doing for a little while. :3 At the moment, the fic stands at almost 20k, and only looks to be getting longer, so I'll do my best to keep a big buffer up between the updates and where I'm at writing so updates stay steady.

****

**_So I need a favor._ **

Miggs frowned down at the note, swallowing the bite of food in his mouth in order to respond to the man across from him. 

“I’m not going to build something for your class again, they shot the laser through the roof last time,” he said firmly, pointing at Peter when he pulled the notepad across the tabletop to respond. “Do you have any idea how hard that was to explain to Michaelson without using the words  _ villain  _ or  _ inator  _ or  _ Agent _ ?” Peter flashed him a grin as he scrawled on the next line, spinning the pad around to face Miggs again.

**_Not for school. For O.W.C.A._ **

Miggs blinked, mouth falling a little slack.

“You need a favor from me that relates back to O.W.C.A.?” Miggs clarified slowly, and Peter nodded. “I’m not taking the next week off or something if that’s what you want, my next bill comes in on the ninth.” Peter shook his head again, pen spinning in his fingers as he pulled the paper back towards himself. Miggs took advantage of his friend’s preoccupation in writing to take another bite, still chewing when he leaned in to read.

**_I need you to marry me._ **

Miggs choked, and then coughed explosively, spraying Peter with bits of green and red. Peter immediately made a horrified face in response before snatching up a napkin to dab at the food peppered over his face and shirt.

Miggs gasped for breath, unable to dredge up the decency to even apologize before stammering, “Muh— _ marry  _ you?” Peter nodded, grimacing as he cleaned himself up. “Do you, uh, you wanna fucking  _ elaborate  _ on that at all?” Miggs demanded, and Peter nodded, setting the napkin aside to start writing again. Miggs didn’t dare take another bite of his food, instead waiting until Peter pushed the pad back towards him.

**_Need to go undercover at a couple’s retreat, and I need a partner I can trust, not only to handle themselves, but also who knows me personally well enough to pass off as my S.O._ **

“But I’m your  _ nemesis, _ ” Miggs hissed, leaning across the table as Peter shrugged and quickly scribbled another note.

**_And I trust you._ **

Miggs blushed, glancing between the note and the man sitting across from him.

He and Peter had known each other for almost three years now, having first met as their personas Peter the Panda and Professor Mystery. They’d ended up nemeses as designated by O.W.C.A. when Peter turned out to be the only O.W.C.A. Agent capable of finding Mystery, let alone pinning him down long enough to have a go at his inators. It was part of the reason why now they let Peter “failing” to destroy Mystery’s projects almost half the time slide. Then they’d met again a short time later, but as their daytime selves, as Peter Orso and Miggs Ortega, college teachers and completely unaware that each was leading a double life entwined with the other. They’d managed to somehow become friends, despite Miggs’ inability to get along with most people, and Peter’s lack of speech.

Then they’d found out they were nemeses. That had been awkward. Miggs had been stupid enough to use the tools at the school to build some of his projects, and Peter had caught him at it, and they’d figured it out from there.

Miggs had been pretty sure it was the end of their friendship.

But instead they’d agreed to keep their personal and business lives separate; they were friends at their day jobs and nemeses at night.

But this, this was…different.

“But I’m an enemy of O.W.C.A. they’d never let you pick me as a partner,” Miggs insisted, poking at his food and wondering at the likelihood of another spit-take happening anytime soon.

**_OWCA gave me free reign to pick my partner for this assignment. If they don’t like who I choose, they’ll just have to find another agent._ **

“So…” Miggs hesitated, clearing his throat and trying not to blush. “You…you want to marry me?” A pink tinge appeared on Peter’s cheeks, and he gave a sort of half-nod, quickly flipping to a fresh page to add another note.

**_It’s just temporary. But actual legal papers are a better cover. We’ll have it annulled as soon as we get back._ **

“Annulled,” Miggs repeated, and Peter nodded.

**_Like it never happened. Without consummation, it just goes away._ **

“Consummation,” Miggs said, feeling like a parrot. Peter nodded again, giving him an awkward look.

**_As long as we don’t have sex._ **

Miggs nodded dumbly, staring down into his food and trying not to blush furiously at the thought of sex with Peter, of Peter touching him, kissing him,  _ fucking  _ him—

**_So you’re on board?_ **

Miggs blinked as Peter pushed the note under his nose, and he swallowed weakly before nodding.

“Sure,” he said, licking his lips. “Sounds… fun. Or something.” 


	2. The Briefing and Also a Marriage Happens

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Bit of a longer one this time and thank you lovelies for giving this super rare pair a chance XD

O.W.C.A. headquarters made Miggs nervous, and he glanced around the stern gray building as Peter led him through it, passing offices and cubicles and rec rooms and what he was pretty sure was a gym, the whole place bustling with Agents. Some were dragging around nemeses of their own, a few in handcuffs, some just tagging along and looking interested as their Agent chatted at them.

Miggs was very glad he usually wore a mask, and was completely unrecognized by any of the Agents or villains swarming around the offices.

Peter led him up to the second floor and into an intimidatingly neat office. A large desk took up most of the space, seconded by a couple of shiny metal filing cabinets and two wooden chairs with red cushion seats in front of the desk. A woman sat behind it, hands folded neatly in front of her, her dark hair trimmed close along the line of her jaw and parted to one side around her face.

“Agent Panda,” she said warmly, gesturing at the chairs in front of her. “Please, sit.” Peter did so, and after a moment’s hesitation, Miggs followed suit, sitting on the edge of the chair and keeping it angled slightly towards the door.

“Professor, please, relax,” the woman said (named Beverly Hoffman, according to the nameplate across the front of her desk). “While we were… _surprised_ , by Panda’s request that you pose as his partner on this mission, we are more than happy to extend a temporary pardon to you while you assist him.”

“So while I’m fake-married to Peter you’re not gonna toss me into the nearest cell is what you’re saying,” Miggs said, fingers tapping anxiously against his thigh. Peter shot him a warning glance and Miggs scowled at him.

“You could say that,” Hoffman replied, smile turning a little brittle. “Panda has already been briefed on the case, but as a quick run-down for you, Professor…” She pulled out a file folder from one of the drawers on her desk, dropping it to the impeccable surface and flicking it open to show a spread of documents covered in red and blue stamps with a scattering of pictures tucked here and there.

“Ian Keller, better known as the Scarlet Scorpion.” She tapped a manicured finger against a photo of a man who appeared to be in his late sixties, hair wildly curly and the sort of a washed-out strawberry blonde color that looked like it might have been red at one point in his life.

“Ian’s been retired for almost fifteen years,” Miggs said, frowning at the photo. It looked like a candid shot of the man while on a boat, leaning casually against the rail and grinning at whoever had taken the photo. “He’s got Alzheimer's, he kept forgetting where he put his inators.”

“Mm, so we thought,” Hoffman said, pushing the photo aside to tug a brochure out of the deeper pages of the folder. It was bright blue and white, showing a sparkling beach and grand hotel, a young, attractive white couple water skiing dangerously close to the shore and grinning as their hair whipped perfectly out behind them. _Keller’s Killer Couple’s Cruise_ was printed in glaring word art across the top, a tagline reading _have the time of your life!_ underneath it.

“What’s this?” Miggs asked, frowning at the brochure as Hoffman shoved it at him.

“Keller’s most recent business venture,” she replied, flicking through the other documents in the folder as Miggs looked through the brochure with raised eyebrows. “And it’s surprisingly successful.”

“But Ian _hated_ romance. The love of his life dumped him on their wedding anniversary when he was twenty five, he never got over it,” Miggs protested, reading over offers of massages and private pools, swimming with dolphins and luxurious rooms and fine dining, all of it orbiting around the romantic trip for two.

“Apparently not,” Hoffman said, pulling free another photo. “He remarried a few years after retirement, to this woman.” Miggs glanced at the photo, taking in the soft, graying hair and round face, a sweet smile spread over full cheeks. The woman was wearing a small bridal veil and was plastered against Keller’s side, while he was hugging her back and grinning blissfully at the camera.

“So he fell in love again after forty years of bitterness and started a business that makes money off it,” Miggs said, shrugging. “I don’t understand how that’s even remotely worthy of O.W.C.A.’s attention.”

“Keller is an _atrocious_ businessman, Professor,” Hoffman said matter-of-factly. “Every venture he’s tried in the last ten years has ended in tremendous failure, and he was almost a half a million dollars in debt less than a year ago.”

“Was,” Miggs repeated, narrowing his eyes at her.

“Mmhmm,” she said, gesturing at the brochure. “And then he opened his _killer couple cruise_ and is making ridiculous sums of money, thousands of dollars per patron, and they keep coming back. Most who have been on the cruise return within two months, and some have been on it as many as nine times. We believe there may be something more sinister than mud baths and massages going on when people are emptying their bank accounts and selling their homes in an effort to gather the funds to go back.”

“How long is the cruise?” Miggs asked, glancing over the paper again.

“Ten days. The guests spend two in a hotel on shore, where they are treated to fine dining, dancing, and full access to a very large stretch of beach, plus a full spa. Then they are moved to a cruise ship, where they spend a week, and then return to spend one final night in the hotel.”

“What happens on the ship?” Miggs asked, finding no information on it in the pamphlet.

“We’re not sure,” Hoffman said, glancing at Peter before returning her attention to Miggs. “We suspect some form of blackmail, but are uncertain. It may be something along the lines of a personality-changer-inator, but those usually wear off within a few weeks,” Hoffman shuffled through the file again, frowning. “We think Keller faked his Alzheimer’s to get out of a rut and throw off suspicion and then spent several years building up a new scheme. We need Panda on that ship to find out what’s going on, and he has requested you as a partner.”

“So, we have to…get married,” Miggs said awkwardly, and Hoffman nodded.

“Keller’s Cruise is only available to married couples, particularly newlyweds. We’re not sure why, but the paperwork is easy enough to obtain and make legal, and it’s much more secure than forging them.” Miggs hesitated and Hoffman went on, “Panda assures me that he’s informed you it will be annulled as soon as you return, of course. You won’t be bound to your nemesis for longer than necessary.” Miggs flushed and then nodded. “Excellent! So, here’s the paperwork for the marriage…” Hoffman pulled out another folder, this one much thinner, and guided Miggs and Peter through signing their names every so often, initialing there, print here, just Panda here, and then just the Professor here.

“And here are your rings,” Hoffman said, dropping a small black velvet case in front of them. “We had to guess at your ring size, Professor, so hopefully it fits.” Miggs blinked as Peter leaned over to flick the case open and pull the bigger ring out to slip onto his left hand. Miggs copied him after a moment. The ring was a little tight over his knuckle, but with a firm push it slipped on the rest of the way. He’d probably have to use soap to get it off later, but that was a worry for future Miggs.

“Congratulations, you may kiss the groom,” Hoffman said, sounding like half a joke as she swept up the papers so they could be processed and dropping the case folder in front of Peter. Miggs flushed and glanced at Peter, who shot him a wink and shook his head. Miggs relaxed marginally and resolutely ignored the tremble of disappointment in the pit of his stomach.

“Oh, here are your plane tickets,” Hoffman added, dropping an envelope in front of them. “Leaves at six AM tomorrow morning, and your check-in at Keller’s is at nine the day after tomorrow.”

“Uh…where is the cruise, by the way,” Miggs said after a moment, standing up as Peter did, fingers fidgeting at the ring around his finger that felt strange and clunky.

“The Caribbean, of course,” Hoffman said, brushing invisible bits of dust off the top of her desk as Peter picked up the folder. “You’re dismissed, Agent Panda, Professor Mystery. Good luck.” Peter shot off a salute and Miggs gave a stiff nod as the man ushered him out of the office.

* * *

Peter drove them to his apartment, and Miggs absently spun the ring round and round his finger using the thumb and pinky of the same hand, staring out the window at the light rain.

“We’re going to have to hold hands, aren’t we,” Miggs said abruptly as Peter stopped at a red light. Peter glanced at him and frowned, nodding a little, the fingers of his left hand lifting from the wheel for a moment and tapping against the vinyl. His ring was silver, with a black decorative band running around it, catching a bit of the light from outside. Miggs looked down at his own hand, taking in the silver band on his finger. If he looked closely there was a paler ring in the metal and he frowned, wondering what it was. It might have been white gold, but he doubted O.W.C.A. would have been willing to shell out much money for rings when they were already spending a large chunk of their precious budget on Keller’s fees.

“Are they…they’re going to expect us to be…touching. And kissing. A lot. Newlyweds.” Miggs grimaced and glanced over at Peter, whose face was impassive. He shrugged, and Miggs bit his lip, resuming the spinning of the ring around his finger. He had the feeling it was going to quickly become a nervous habit.

When Peter pulled into his parking lot, Miggs was spinning the ring rapidly enough that it was starting to rub the inside of his fingers a little raw. When he parked, Peter reached over and put his hand over Miggs’, stilling his fidgeting. Miggs looked up, and Peter gave him a soft smile, patting at Miggs’ fingers before climbing out of the car. Miggs followed suit, circling around the back end as Peter left the driver’s side door open for him.

“Um.” Peter paused as Miggs stopped in front of him, lifting an eyebrow when Miggs reached up to push his own hair out of his face as it started to droop from the rainwater gathering in it.

“Should—” Miggs bit his lip and blew out a breath, glancing at the ground. “Should we…practice?” It came out a mumble, and Peter seemed to just barely catch it, blinking at him. He shrugged and reached out, taking Miggs’ hand and lacing their fingers together. Miggs flushed, trying not to squeeze Peter’s hand too hard out of nerves. Peter just smiled at him, seeming amused by Miggs’ strange desire to practice holding hands in the rain and apparently missing what he had actually meant completely.

“Okay, uh,” Miggs rubbed his thumb over the ring on Peter’s finger, staring down at his feet, too nervous to outright suggest practicing kissing. “I’m getting soaked, so uh, I’ll see you tomorrow morning?” Peter smirked and nodded, slowly pulling his hand free of Miggs’ grip as he walked away, folder tucked under his arm so it wouldn’t get too wet. Miggs watched him go, awkwardly waving when Peter turned to catch him staring. Peter waved back, grinning, and Miggs’ cheeks burned with embarrassment as he quickly climbed into his car. Grumbling under his breath, Miggs fastened his seatbelt and pulled out of the spot, trying not to think too hard about how he’d somehow been roped into marrying his best friend to thwart the scheme of a villain that used to come see Miggs’ parents every once in awhile, usually to talk shop with Miggs’ father.

Miggs’ apartment was quiet, and he spent a long time sitting on his couch staring at he ring on his finger. He tried to take it off and found that it was stuck, and even when he tried soap, it wouldn’t come off.

“Fuck,” Miggs grumbled, giving it up as a lost cause as he dried his hands. They’d probably have to cut it off when he and Peter got divorced next week.

Annulled. When they got their marriage _annulled_ next week. They weren’t going to consummate it, it was just temporary, just a cover. While the marriage was technically legal, they weren’t really married. Hell, they hadn’t even kissed at the ‘ceremony.’ Miggs snorted. Of course, the first time he was going to kiss Peter it was probably going to be an act. Unless Peter wanted to ‘practice’ that before they got to the hotel.

Miggs caught his mind wandering to Peter kissing him, touching him, pulling him close and grinning wickedly before leaning in to capture his mouth and quickly shook himself, scowling. It was just a cover so Peter could complete this mission. And Miggs was doing it as a favor to his friend. That was it. That was all.

Sighing, Miggs packed a couple bags for the trip then got ready for bed and crawled in between the sheets, determinedly not thinking about how he was spending his wedding night without his husband.


	3. It Begins

Miggs' alarm went off at four AM and his fist slammed down onto the snooze button so hard he was pretty sure he heard the plastic casing crack. Groaning, Miggs buried his face in his pillow, really not wanting to get up at all. But the alarm went off again ten minutes later, so he reluctantly dragged himself out of bed and into the kitchen to make coffee.

He drank half the pot in ten minutes and then put the rest in an extra-large travel mug, dumping in a big scoop of sugar before screwing on the cap. He threw one bag over his shoulder and then picked up the other before realizing that it might be a good idea to maybe put on pants before leaving his apartment. Sighing, he put everything back down and then went and changed into real clothes before slowly shambling down to his car so he could pick Peter up to take them to the airport.

It was foggy and cold outside, and Miggs bitterly regretted not bringing a jacket as he tossed his bags into the backseat and then climbed in behind the wheel.

He drove to Peter’s apartment on autopilot, sucking down coffee at every stoplight and hoping he’d be able to get more sleep on the plane. If not, maybe Keller would assume he looked half dead from lack of sleep because he’d been fucking his new husband silly or something. Snorting, Miggs parked in the lot diagonally across two spaces and dropped a fist against the steering wheel to make the horn give out a miserable-sounding honk.

Peter’s door popped open and the man himself appeared, one large black bag slung over his shoulder, and looking unfairly good for how early in the morning it was. He waved as he paused to lock his front door and Miggs flipped him off in return, earning a grin. Peter knew incredibly well how very much _not_ a morning person Miggs was, and seemed to find his pre-eleven AM ire endlessly amusing.

Peter tossed his bag in the back and slid into the passenger seat, clapping a hand on Miggs’ shoulder in a distinctly friendly way.

“Oh, yeah, that’s certainly the way to greet your husband,” Miggs mumbled sarcastically, shifting the car into reverse as Peter gave him a startled look. “What? What married couple do _you_ know that says hi like that?” Miggs snorted when Peter grimaced, seceding the point, and then making Miggs yelp when he leaned over to press a chaste kiss to his cheek. Peter grinned at him and Miggs scowled.

“Warn me or something, it’s too early for this bullshit,” he muttered and Peter rolled his eyes, lifting one arm to fiddle with his watch. “Letting O.W.C.A. know we’re already failing spectacularly?” Miggs asked sarcastically as he left the lot and headed for the airport. Peter shrugged and continued to fiddle with the watch until Miggs parked and unfastened his seatbelt. He reached out to stop Miggs from getting out, and Miggs waited while Peter pulled out his cell phone to type a quick message.

**_Don’t know if Keller has spies, or how far out they begin monitoring the patrons, so we begin here. Understand?_ **

Miggs nodded and Peter let him get out of the car, quickly following suit. Peter grabbed all the bags and Miggs scowled at him, snatching the envelope Peter offered to him.

“I can carry my own damn bags,” Miggs grumbled as he yanked one of them out of Peter’s grip and slung it over his shoulder. “Asshole.” Peter gave him a pointed look and Miggs scowled at him. “It begins here, but I’m not gonna be anything but myself, so suck it up.” Peter rolled his eyes and reached out to grab Miggs’ hand, ignoring the faint twitch of surprise that ran through him.

The airport was busy, even at five in the morning, people hurrying to catch early flights, most of them sucking down coffee and shoving pastries into their mouths, and Miggs stuck close to Peter as he led them to their gate. Customs took ages and Miggs ended up having to give up his coffee, which he complained bitterly about until he was pushing their tickets at the stewardess waiting by the boarding area.

O.W.C.A. hadn’t been generous enough to book them first class, though they did have two seats next to each other, and Miggs let Peter have the one by the window.

“I’m just gonna sleep the whole time anyway,” Miggs said, yawning and reaching up to cover it with his hand as Peter’s eyes flicked to the gap in his teeth. “So sit the fuck down so I can get to doing that.” Peter smirked and did as he was told after stowing their bags, and Miggs clipped his seat belt as the steward started going through flight safety procedures and the in case of emergencies. Miggs snoozed through most of it, fingers still loosely threaded through Peter’s. That felt nice, holding Peter’s hand. It wasn’t hard, his touch didn’t burn or send lust racing up Miggs’ spine like he’d thought it would, like it was described in romance novels. Peter’s hand was warm and bigger than Miggs’, palm pressed against his as Peter’s thumb brushed over the back of his knuckles. The line of his ring was distinct against Miggs’ hand, just as warm as his skin but hard and smooth, and Miggs rubbed absently at it as he dozed, a small, unconscious smile curling at the edges of his mouth at the thought of Peter wearing his ring.

Miggs startled briefly when the plane started moving, but Peter just shushed him, turning his head to kiss the top of Miggs’ curls. Miggs wondered when his head had ended up on Peter’s shoulder, and when the man had learned to be such a good actor, but quickly forgot both as he slipped back into sleep, not at all bothered by the whine of the plane engines or the sudden swoop of his stomach when they took off. By the time they reached altitude, he was out cold.

The flight was twelve hours long, with stops in a few cities Miggs didn’t bother taking note of. Miggs slept through the first six, and then groaned about how bored he was for another hour until Peter pushed his phone under Miggs’ nose, Angry Birds already pulled up. Miggs scowled, and while he usually would have rejected the game out of spite, he gave in and spent the rest of the trip shooting green pigs and muttering about trajectory inaccuracies.

They landed in another airport, and when they got off the plane, Miggs immediately wanted to turn around and get back on.

“I don’t like it here,” he groaned, pinching the front of his shirt to peel it away from his skin. It was early summer and the heat was far higher than Miggs was used to expecting at night, sweat beading on his lower back and chest as Peter grinned at him. “Where are we?” Peter waved at a sign hanging nearby as they walked through the airport, which read _Cyril E. King Airport, Charlotte Amalie West, St Thomas 00802, U.S. Virgin Islands._

“Oh,” Miggs said, blinking as Peter pushed money and papers into his hands. “What’s this?” Peter pointed down at the paper, which had an address on it. “Taxi?” Peter nodded and took his hand after Miggs shoved the handful of bills and paper into his pocket, pulling him out of the bustling airport. Despite it being ten at night, the place was full of people disembarking from flights and getting on others, and Miggs clung tight to Peter’s hand as they made their way outside. There were taxis lined up to carry passengers, so they grabbed one and Miggs carefully read out the address on the paper to the driver as Peter stowed their bags in the trunk. They were going to stay in a motel across from Keller’s hotel for the night and then show up for check-in at nine AM, and Miggs stared out the window as the cab drove them along the road to the airport before making its way deeper into the island.

The scenery was very pretty, and Miggs took in a wide view of the ocean from his side and then turned to lean over Peter to look out his window. There were trees and then buildings, with architecture much different from Seattle. Nighttime cast a dark shadow over a lot of it, so Miggs wasn’t able to make out more than general shapes and colors, but he still was determined to take advantage of seeing a new place for the first time in years as best he could.

Peter chuckled and ran a hand down Miggs’ back, the touch just a little hesitant, but Miggs did his best to accept it naturally, humming quietly as Peter ran his hand over him again, like he touched Miggs like this all the time.

The cab pulled up in front of the motel, and Miggs quickly dug out the cash Peter had given him to pay the driver, counting out the fare and adding a tip as Peter fetched their bags.

The motel was clean and sparsely decorated, a bored-looking desk attendant popping his gum when they walked in. He greeted them in a tone that spoke of being very familiar with tourists, setting them up in a room and sliding a keycard across the counter at them.

“Enjoy your stay,” he said as they headed for the elevator. Peter gave him a cheerful wave before the doors shut, and Miggs leaned back against the wall as Peter hit the button for the second floor.

“There’s only one bed,” he mumbled, glancing around the elevator for any sign of a camera. Peter nodded, and Miggs blew out a breath. “So that’s….a thing.” Peter nodded again, leaning closer to nudge at Miggs with his shoulder. Miggs looked and Peter gave him a reassuring smile, squeezing his shoulder as the elevator came to a stop and the doors opened. He took Miggs’ hand again as they walked down the hall to the door with their number on it, swiping the card to unlock it.

There was indeed only one bed, along with a TV on a long dresser, a small bathroom with a standing shower, and two nightstands, each with a lamp.

The bed looked intimidatingly small, even though Miggs knew, logically, it was more than enough to hold both him and Peter. Hell, they could both probably sleep in it and never touch, if they wanted. Which was obviously what was going to happen. Not like Peter wanted to be touching Miggs all the time by the way he dropped Miggs’ hand once the door was shut behind them.

Peter dropped their bags by the bed, not bothering to unpack anything before kicking off his shoes and sitting on the edge. Miggs hovered uncertainly by the door before Peter waved him over, grabbing the remote to flick on the TV. The sound was muted, and it took them both a while to figure out which of the unlabeled buttons on the remote turned it back on, and after that Peter flicked through the channels while Miggs dug through one of his bags until he found a book.

“So we check in the resort tomorrow,” he said after watching Peter flick through the limited channels offered by the hotel’s cable for the fourth or fifth time. Peter nodded, turning to look at him and pausing in his aimless channel surfing. “What happens after that?”

Peter hummed and then leaned over the edge of the bed to dig through his bag until he found his notepad and a pen, scrawling out a reply before pushing it over the blanket at where Miggs was sitting against the headboard with his knees curled up to his chest. Miggs leaned forward to read, legs folding flat so he could get close enough to make out Peter’s looping cursive.

**_Start poking around a little. Nothing too serious for the first couple of days, it’s the cruise ship O.W.C.A. needs intel on. The hotel seems innocent enough, but no one really says what happens on the ship, so that’s where we’ll be doing most of our investigating, find out what Keller’s up to._ **

“I don’t think it’s really anything sinister,” Miggs said after a long moment. “I kinda knew him, a long time ago.” Peter paused, frowning at him.

**_How long ago? How well? Would he recognize you?_ **

“He has _Alzheimer’s,_ ” Miggs said, frowning at Peter. “I doubt he recognizes his new wife half the time, let alone someone he hasn’t seen in almost twenty years.” Peter frowned, tapping his pen against the paper.

**_And if he’s been faking it?_ **

Miggs pursed his lips. “I don’t think he is, but he hasn’t seen me since…since before my parents shot themselves into orbit. I doubt he’d recognize me now.” Peter let out a slow breath and nodded.

**_Best to keep you away from him as much as possible, if that’s the case. Him and his wife run the ship personally, so we’ll have to be careful poking around._ **

Miggs nodded, fingers picking at the edge of his book.

“What are you expecting to find? What if it’s nothing? It might just be a really good cruise,” Miggs said, and Peter frowned at him.

**_It’s never nothing. They’re either blackmailing their patrons into coming back, or using some sort of inator._ **

Miggs scowled and slumped down against the headboard a bit, ridiculously-full hotel pillows getting squished behind him.

“Ian was never a swindler,” he mumbled, and Peter sighed.

**_You were what, ten when you last saw him? For all you knew he was a mass murderer. Pls trust me. This is what I do._ **

Miggs pressed his mouth into a thin, stubborn line and Peter growled at him. Blowing out a breath, Miggs looked away. Peter was right, this was his area of expertise. While Miggs might have known Ian Keller a long time ago, Peter knew villains, and how they operated, plus he had all of O.W.C.A. and their specialists backing him up.

“Okay,” Miggs mumbled, glancing at the digital clock on the nightstand. “I’m so fucking jetlagged.” Peter hummed in agreement, gesturing at the head of the bed. “Yeah, sure. You coming?”

**_In a bit._ **

Even though he’d slept most of the flight, Miggs felt tired enough to sleep some more, so he threw back the covers to the bed and hesitated before peeling off his shirt and tossing it aside, dropping his jeans and quickly sliding under the covers in his undershirt and briefs before Peter could see much of him. Miggs looked up to see Peter pointedly looking down at his notepad, doodling circles in one corner, and Miggs blushed, feeling a strange mix of disappointment and embarrassment.

Pulling the blanket up over his shoulders, Miggs tried to relax enough to go to sleep, one foot rubbing restlessly against the other under the sheet until Peter reached out and put a hand on one, thumb rubbing against the ball of Miggs’ foot through the duvet.

Miggs hummed in appreciation at the pressure, and Peter kept rubbing gently at his foot until Miggs managed to fall asleep again.


	4. Day One

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Bit of a long one this week. This is also where we start to earn our Explicit rating :3

It was really warm when he woke up. It was that sort of toasty warmth that comes from being under thick blankets in an already warm room, almost too warm to be comfortable, but not quite hot.

There was also an arm looped around his waist, pulling him tight against someone’s front, the hand attached to said arm cupping at his crotch. Miggs blinked blearily at that, wondering who the hell was in his bed and why they were grabbing his morning wood like that.

There was a silvery ring on the hand, with a black band running around it.

And then Miggs realized that it was _Peter’s_ hand, his husband but only legally, and _ohhhh_ , Peter was _squeezing—_

Miggs let out a strangled noise as Peter’s hand tightened reflexively on his dick, not quite wrapping around it, more lying along it and cupping firmly, other arm slotted under Miggs’ neck tensing a bit. Miggs gasped when Peter hummed and pulled him closer by tightening the arm around his waist, palm pressing hard against Miggs’ erection. Peter’s hips rubbed against Miggs’ ass, drawing his attention immediately to where Peter’s cock was hard and throbbing against him.

“Ohhh, my God,” Miggs gasped, and Peter grumbled softly, nuzzling into the back of Miggs’ neck, lips wet and soft as he kissed the skin there. “Oh, God, uh, Peter?” Peter hummed, sounding mostly-asleep and very pleased with himself as he rubbed against Miggs’ ass again. Miggs couldn’t bite back the moan the feel of Peter’s cock dragging against him forced from his throat, and Peter tightened his grip on him again, fingers squeezing at his crotch until Miggs whimpered with pleasure.

And then the digital clock’s alarm went off, loud and grating, making Miggs’ entire body jerk with surprise. Peter jumped as well at Miggs’ lurch, sitting up suddenly and throwing his body over Miggs’ protectively.

“Puh-Peter!” Miggs gasped, pushing at him and trying not to instinctively buck up against Peter’s thigh that had pushed between his knees. “It’s just the alarm, oh my God, it startled me, that’s all!” Peter stared at him, eyes intent on his mouth, and Miggs thought for a moment Peter was going to kiss him, but then he leaned over and switched the alarm off, quickly rolling off Miggs to the edge of the bed, back to him.

“Peter?” Miggs asked after a second, glad for the sheets bunched around his waist, hiding his erection. It wasn’t needed, though, Peter didn’t even turn to look at him, instead groping at the nightstand to push on his glasses and grab a small white case. He pushed something into one of his ears and then did the same to the other, setting the case aside again before glancing over his shoulder at Miggs, looking apprehensive.

“What are….” Miggs began, but Peter hunched slightly, looking away from him again, and Miggs quickly changed his question. “Uh, what are we having for breakfast?” His stomach growled right on cue, and Miggs silently thanked whatever benevolent god had intervened on his behalf. Peter turned to look at him again, a faint suspicion in his eyes, but it cleared when Miggs’ stomach just growled again, a little louder. He shrugged and slid out of the bed all the way, and Miggs flushed when he realized Peter was only wearing a pair of boxers, black fabric clinging to his ass as he bent to unzip one of the bags at his feet.

Miggs found himself half-trapped in the bed by his own traitorous body, which was showing no sign of letting up its interest in Peter’s hand returning to its earlier groping. Peter pulled on a pair of pants as Miggs watched, swallowing dryly when Peter turned slightly while tugging them on, the open zip framing his also still very-present erection in a way that had Miggs’ mouth watering. Peter looked up as he buttoned his pants, and Miggs blushed to have been caught staring, chewing his lip as Peter’s eyebrows went up, a small smirk appearing at the corner of his mouth.

“Shut up,” Miggs said, throwing back the covers. Peter spread his hands, eyes darting down Miggs’ body to his crotch (where his own underwear were tented none-too-subtly). “You were thinking loudly,” Miggs retorted to Peter’s innocent expression, earning a huff of laughter as Miggs tugged on yesterday’s pants in an effort to hide his erection.

They packed up what little they’d taken out of their bags, redressing and using the bathroom one at a time before heading back down to the desk, where a different attendant checked them out, sipping a cup of coffee that had Miggs groaning with jealousy as they returned the keycard. Peter patted his shoulder in comfort as they stepped outside, waving a hand at the sprawling resort complex across the street.

“They better have coffee, or this is gonna be a real short honeymoon,” Miggs muttered and Peter paused, startled, before letting out an amused huff, taking Miggs’ free hand as they stepped into the crosswalk.

Keller’s resort was much nicer than the motel, full of smooth stone floors and live plants, comfortable seating lining the walls and four attendants manning a desk with a shiny marble countertop. Despite showing up an hour early for check in (and thus making it the second day in a row Miggs was awake before nine AM and subsequently more pissed than usual), there were long lines in front of every attendant, every one made up of couples. Groaning, Miggs leaned heavily on Peter as they waited in line, nearly dozing off against the man’s chest when Peter wrapped an arm around him to pull him close. Most of the couples around them were holding hands or touching in some way, and Miggs knew it would be weird to stand apart from Peter, so he tried not to feel guilty about snuggling against his husband-but-not as they waited. He also did his best to not think about Peter’s hand on his cock or about him rubbing against his ass, because if he started thinking about that he would probably end up popping another boner against Peter’s leg, and that would be a bit awkward, all things considered.

Eventually they reached the front of the line and Peter nudged Miggs forward so he could talk to the attendant.

“Uh, Ortega-Orso reservation,” Miggs said awkwardly and then frowning before looking at Peter. “Wait, is it Ortega-Orso or Orso-Ortega? Or did we just pick one? Whose did we pick?” Peter rolled his eyes and held up one finger. “First one? First one, okay, uh,” turning back to the attendant, who was giving him a bland, polite smile, Miggs repeated, “Ortega-Orso.”

“Welcome, Sirs, we are very happy to provide you with our honeymooners package,” she said in clipped English, giving Miggs another faux smile. “Your suite is on the fifth floor, here is a map of the premises, information on the various amenities, the resort rules, schedule, and complimentary coupon book. Please remember that the hotel stay is only for the next two days and on Monday morning we will be boarding the ship for the seven day cruise where you will be assigned a cabin for the remainder of your stay. The ship leaves at eight AM sharp, so please don’t miss it!” Miggs groaned at the prospect of getting up early _again_ this week as he took the stack of papers and pamphlets and inch-thick coupon book from the woman while Peter gave her a charming smile and steered him away.

The elevators were a little crowded, couples awkwardly squeezing in together as they headed up to their rooms. Most of the couples were relatively young, mostly under the age of thirty, though there were a few Miggs’ own age, and a few more that were edging towards middle aged. One of the very young looking couples were entangled in the corner, happily sucking face and making everyone else in the elevator cab vaguely uncomfortable as it slowly climbed upwards.

“I’m going to throw myself off the boat if this is what the entire trip is like,” Miggs mumbled into Peter’s ear when the man pulled him close to make room for another couple squeezing into the cab on the second floor as they hit the lobby button. Peter huffed softly and squeezed Miggs’ waist, brushing a kiss against his temple and making him blush.

“How long have you been married, then?” a woman next to Miggs asked cheerfully, looking far too happy for someone at least six inches shorter than most of the people in the cab and consequently being nearly crushed, saved only by the protective embrace of an equally-short but much more physically intimidating woman Miggs assumed was her wife.

“Uh, two days,” Miggs replied when Peter nudged him.

“Oh, honeymoon then,” she said brightly, and Miggs nodded. “Ours, too.” She gestured with her head back at the woman holding her, brown hair flicking out of her face. “I’m Leslie, and this is my wife Andrea.” Miggs gave them both a half-smile that probably came off more a wince, going by Andrea’s skeptical look.

“Miggs,” he said when Leslie looked at him expectantly. “And, uh, this is my husband, Peter.” Peter’s arms tightened a little around him as he was introduced, but when Miggs looked at him he was just giving both women a charming smile.

“Nice to meet you, maybe we’ll see you around!” Leslie said as he doors slid open on what was apparently their floor, going by how Andrea tugged her out, shouldering a taller man out of the way as she went.

Peter patted Miggs’ hip in apparent approval when he glanced at him as the doors shut again, and Miggs chewed his lip anxiously until they reached their floor, Peter pulling him free of the crowded elevator and out into a lushly carpeted hallway painted a rich cream.

“Oh, thank fucking God, I couldn’t breathe in there,” Miggs complained once the elevator had moved on. Peter gave him a crooked smile, taking his hand and pulling him along the hall until they reached their room.

The suite was also much nicer than the motel, which was to be expected, Miggs supposed. It actually had a sitting area, and the bed was even bigger, covered in blankets and pillows and two one-size-fits-all white robes folded at the end of it. The TV was much nicer as well, and mounted on the wall, a sound system sitting under it. The bathroom had a full jacuzzi tub and a large standing shower, double sinks set into a marble counter top under a broad mirror between the two.

“I’m never leaving,” Miggs said after a minute, staring at the tub and wondering how soon was too soon to get in for a bath when he’d showered at the motel not even two hours ago. Peter laughed and patted Miggs’ shoulder as he brushed past him to drop the bags by the bed, leaning against the edge to start fiddling with his watch. Miggs crossed to the bed as well, dropping all the papers the attendant had given him over the duvet and starting to sort through them.

The coupon book was actually more of an advertisement book, showing off packages and specials and deals, all of which were technically “free” since their price was included in the fee whether they took advantage of them or not. Miggs made sure to note the few in there for the restaurants in another part of the resort, wondering if any of them carried vegetarian meals for Peter, before moving on to the map of the resort. There was the hotel and lobby, which they’d already seen, and Miggs guessed most of the hotel looked the same as their floor, with possibly different colored carpets or walls, depending. The lobby connected to a mezzanine area, which branched off into the rest of the resort, including the spa, restaurants, a small shopping center apparently, and a few other amenities, plus a boardwalk leading down to the bay where the cruise ship would have them board. The boardwalk also had a small path leading off it to a beach that swept a good mile along, apparently reserved for guests of Keller’s cruise liner alone.

Miggs set the map aside as Peter looked up from his watch, picking up the rules and snorting as he read the first one. Peter lifted an eyebrow and Miggs smirked, reading it aloud for him.

“No sexual activity outside of your assigned hotel rooms,” he recited and Peter grinned. “I wonder how soon after opening they had to add that one.” Miggs scanned down the list, flicking to the second page after a minute. “This is a lot of rules. No outside food or drink, no pets, no running by the pool, no excessive use of the amenities by any patron, couples must spend the majority of their time together…this is….weird.” Miggs frowned at the paper, flicking through it a couple of times. Most of the rules on the list were reasonable, but there were several that just stuck out as…odd.

Peter hummed in agreement, leaning over to snag the resort schedule before Miggs could.

“Hey,” Miggs complained, trying to grab it back and instead just ending up landing on the mattress as Peter ducked out of the way. “Asshole, let me look at that.” Peter grinned and rolled the paper up, swatting him on the ass before he could get up. Miggs blushed and growled, scrambling off the bed to lunge at Peter. He crashed into him and Peter laughed, holding the paper up out of his reach as Miggs tried to snag it.

“Why,” Miggs panted, “Are you. Being. Such. A dick!” He jumped, trying to grab the paper as he used Peter’s shoulder for leverage, but the man just laughed and tilted back, holding it out of reach. And then he gasped as Miggs jumped again, pushing on his shoulder in an attempt to reach, and overbalancing them both.

“Shit—!” Miggs gasped as they both went tumbling down. Luckily they’d turned until Peter’s back was to the bed as Miggs had pursued the paper, so Peter hit the mattress and Miggs landed on top of him, both of them scrambling not to slip off the edge of the mattress to the floor.

Panting, Miggs looked up after managing to get stable to realize Peter was lying flat on the bed, legs hanging over the edge after the knee, Miggs sprawled over the top of him, hips pressing against Peter’s.

“Oh, uh,” Miggs blushed and quickly pushed himself off Peter, managing to get his feet under him and clearing his throat awkwardly. “Just give me the damn schedule, Peter.” Peter silently held it out without sitting up, and Miggs leaned over to pluck it from his hand, looking it over. It was mostly just hours for when the spa and shops were open, and a note that the beach was open twenty four hours but only had lifeguards on duty during the day.

“See, was that so hard,” Miggs grumbled, flicking the paper back at Peter, where it landed on his chest before slipping off to the side.

“We still haven’t had breakfast,” Miggs complained after a second, snatching up the booklet of ‘coupons’ again and flicking through it until he found the ones for the restaurants. “Look, they’ve got a diner. We can go there?” Peter nodded, sitting up and letting the schedule slide off his chest to the floor. “Okay, let’s go, I’m starving.”

Peter nodded in agreement again, and they quickly left the room and headed down to the lobby. The elevator was just as crowded, full of couples heading up to their hotel rooms or down to the lobby, and Miggs ended up with his back pressed to Peter’s front, squirming in discomfort every time a stranger brushed up against him in the crowded cab. Peter put his arms around Miggs and perched his chin on Miggs’ shoulder, moving his hips back away from Miggs when he shifted around agitatedly.

Escaping the elevator was once again a blissful relief, and Miggs followed Peter across the lobby and out into the mezzanine, quickly locating the restaurant and dragging Peter inside.

They had coffee (Miggs nearly cried, and drank three cups before the waiter came to take their order. **_I think you have an addiction,_** Peter had pushed the note at him halfway through his second, and Miggs had just flipped him off.) and vegetarian options, so they both ordered large meals and eagerly dug in, after having had nothing but airplane food the day before.

“So what do we do now,” Miggs asked as they left the restaurant, hands linked like all the other couples wandering the resort. Peter shrugged, tugging his phone free of his pocket to type out a quick message one-handed.

**_Whatever you want. I’m going to do some recon later tonight when not so many ppl are out and about but until then, we might as well enjoy the place._ **

“Okay,” Miggs said after he read it, glancing around the mezzanine and wondering what to do first.

They ended up wandering the shops, and Miggs spent most of it moaning over the blatantly touristy style of the items available for purchase. Peter bought him a bobblehead of a dolphin, and Miggs spent the rest of the walk holding it and flicking it occasionally to make the head bob and shake. When the shops got boring they stopped for lunch at a different restaurant, more of a snack bar, really, and then went to the spa, which had a long staircase that led down to a part of the beach, where a narrow building stretched, presumably where the private pools, massage rooms, and so on were. There were also wading and tide pools carefully sheltered down in the far corner, and Miggs spent a long time laying on his stomach by them as Peter sat next to him, pointing out fish and other ocean life trapped in the pool from low tide. Miggs’ hadn’t been much for the science of living things, but the tide pools were very nice to look at, and Miggs appreciated the reflective quality of the water that let him stare at Peter without getting caught.

It was late afternoon when they went back to the first restaurant for dinner, brushing sand from their clothes as they went. The staff in the restaurant looked faintly dismayed when they got sand on the carpet, but resigned, since they weren’t the only couple tracking sand in from the beach or spa. They sat at a different table and Miggs didn’t have coffee this time, which Peter teased him about ( ** _Did I touch a nerve?_**   “Fuck off, asshole.”) as they ate.

Peter pulled him back up to the hotel room after that, and Miggs silently thanked whatever might be listening that the elevator wasn’t nearly as crowded as it had been that morning. Once back in the room, Miggs found even more sand in his shoes, and socks, and pants.

“This shit gets everywhere,” he grumbled, yanking his shirt off over his head and shaking it out, watching a small arc of pale sand fly loose of it. Peter grunted in agreement and Miggs blushed when the man stripped down to just his underwear, tossing his other clothes aside.

“I’m gonna take a bath,” Miggs said, the sound a little strangled. Peter looked up but Miggs just bolted into the bathroom, determinedly not lingering on the fresh memory of Peter with very few clothes on.

The water in the tub came out hot right away, and Miggs let it fill up as he kicked out of his pants and underwear and threw his undershirt aside. It took him a couple minutes to figure out how the buttons worked, accidentally dumping a ton of frothy soap into the water that turned it into one giant swell of bubbles before he found the button for the jets, which only made the bubbles worse.

“Well,” Miggs said standing naked next to the tub and staring at the rise of bubbles that was almost as high as he was tall. “Okay then.” Pushing the bubbles back so he could get in without swallowing a bunch of them, Miggs sank into the hot water with a sigh, immediately slipping down until just his head was above the water, jets pulsing against his back and hips. It was very loud, but after getting used to the sound of the pump and churning water, it was actually very nice.

“Okay, yeah, I don’t care if he’s swindling every patron here and shooting them with inators, I’m never leaving this thing,” Miggs said to himself, blowing out a breath and sending some of the foam spinning across the surface of the water.

The door popped open and Miggs flailed in surprise, sending water sloshing everywhere. Peter peered around the the door, eyebrows climbing his forehead when he took in Miggs sitting in the middle of all the bubbles.

“P-Peter!” Miggs sank deeper until the thick covering of white, glaring at his friend-slash-husband. “What are you doing?” Peter pointed at the shower, not looking away from where Miggs was huddled in a mountain of foam. “It couldn’t _wait?_ ” Peter smirked and shook his head, rubbing a hand along his arm and showing Miggs the amount of sand that was clinging to his skin before stepping closer inside and gesturing down at himself to indicate that he had sand clinging in less-than-comfortable places as well. Miggs flushed, noting that Peter was still in just his underwear.

“Fine. Whatever.” Miggs gathered more bubbles in front of himself to make a wall, and he heard a quiet laugh from Peter as the door shut again. Miggs almost splashed him in surprise when Peter leaned over the wall to give him a funny look, pointing at the bubbles.

“Uh, I didn’t know which button did what,” Miggs said, and Peter paused, and then grinned, shaking his head as he turned away again, heading for the other side of the bathroom where the shower was. Miggs kept his gaze determinedly on the surface of the water in the tub as he heard Peter turning the shower on and letting it run for a moment, wondering how long it would take for him to get in and for the steam to obscure the glass of the door enough that Miggs couldn’t see him.

He glanced up just in time to see Peter kicking off his underwear, and blushed deeply at the sight of Peter fully naked, setting his glasses on the counter and shielding his eyes with one hand.

“Uh, you can,” Miggs began, breaking off when Peter turned his head to look at him, expression a touch surprised. Miggs blushed deeply and kept his gaze firmly on Peter’s hair, swallowing weakly before continuing, “You can turn the light off, if it bothers you.” Peter hesitated, and then leaned over to flick the switch down, lowering the hand shielding his eyes. Miggs’ eyes adjusted to the dark just in time to see Peter flash him a grateful smile and step into the shower, vanishing behind the foggy glass.

The jets for the tub shut off automatically and Miggs grumbled in complaint, pushing bubbles out of the way as he leaned back towards where the buttons for the tub were. He frowned at the panel, trying to remember which one was for the jacuzzi, since one side was labeled L and the other R, and he was looking at it upside down. He was pretty sure he’d pressed the buttons on the left side when he’d turned the jets on the first time, so he started pressing the ones labeled R.

There was a yelp from the shower, and Miggs looked up in surprise.

“Uh,” he said as he pressed another button. “You okay?” Peter yelped again, and Miggs paused as a dark shape came closer to the glass, and he squinted through the dark of the room to see Peter writing backwards on the steamed-up glass so Miggs could read it.

_What R u doing? Turned on jets in wall._

“Oh,” Miggs said, looking down at the panel again. “Wrong left. Sorry!” Peter grumbled, popping the door to the shower open to glower at him. Miggs pointed down at the panel and Peter squinted at him, blowing out a breath before vanishing back into the shower. Miggs turned back to the panel and started pressing buttons on the side labeled L, eventually finding the one for the jets near the bottom. Miggs sank back down into the water, sighing as the hot water worked against his back and shoulders. The bubbles slowly dispersed, drifting and fizzling down until there weren’t any left thanks to the pump that filtered the water through to the jets. Miggs glanced over to where the shower was still running and pulled the plug for the tub, clambering out and nearly slipping on the tile. He groped for one of the towels folded next to the tub and wrapped it around his waist, patting most of his body dry.

The shower thudded as it shut off and Miggs whirled around so his back wasn’t to where Peter was anymore.

He was promptly reminded that Peter was naked as he pushed the shower door open, and Miggs quickly clapped both hands over his eyes, blushing.

“Sorry!” he said, pressing his fingers firmly against his face so he wouldn’t peek, accidentally or on purpose. There was a huff of sound from Peter and Miggs didn’t move, waiting for him to leave. Instead he yelped in surprise when a hand wrapped around his wrist, pulling it away from his face, making him jump and then promptly slip in the water he’d splashed everywhere. Miggs cried out as he went down, Peter letting out a grunt as he tried to catch him and just got tangled up in his flailing limbs and they both fell.

“Ow,” Miggs said, clutching his elbow where he’d knocked it against the side of the tub. “Ow, ow, ow.” Peter grunted in agreement in Miggs’ ear, hand cradling the back of his head where he’d kept him from smacking it into the floor. Miggs stilled as he realized he was lying on his back on the soaking floor, towel wrapped around one thigh and covering absolutely nothing else, Peter sprawled half on top of him, his own towel held in the hand that wasn’t in Miggs’ hair.

“Uh,” Miggs blinked up at Peter, who frowned and let go of his towel to point at him, curling his fingers into a slang sign Miggs knew to ask _you okay?_ Miggs gaped for a second, blinking up at him and trying very hard to ignore the fact that Peter’s hip was pressing into his cock and that _Peter’s_ cock was pressed against his thigh. They were both soft, but Miggs at least wasn’t going to stay that way, with Peter naked and laying on top of him, tugging on his hair a little to get his attention.

“Uh, um, I—” Miggs struggled to get his brain unscrambled, squirming under Peter and trying not to get hard. Peter’s frown deepened, and he asked _you okay?_ again, fingers rubbing over the back of his head, probably checking for injury. “Yeah, yeah, I’m fine, ohhh, fuck don’t do that—” Miggs shivered when Peter pulled on his hair to make him turn his head, trying to see if he was hurt. Peter paused when Miggs whimpered, going still as Miggs’ cock thickened noticeably against him.

Peter let out a quiet sound, comprehension dawning on his face as Miggs squirmed, trying to pull his legs together to hide his growing erection and instead just squeezing around Peter’s thigh.

“S-sorry, fuck, it’s—hair pulling,” Miggs stammered, blushing and looking anywhere but at Peter as he let go of his elbow to push both hands between them, covering the fork of his legs and trying to hide how hard he was. Peter stared, cock warm and pressing against Miggs’ thigh; he thought Peter might be getting firmer, harder, but then Peter pulled away, rubbing a fist against his chest as he got to his knees over Miggs, one hand snagging his towel to hide his crotch. Miggs flushed as he stared up at him, hands still covering himself as he tried to pull his knees up and together, accidentally dragging the leg under Peter up against him. Peter’s breath caught and Miggs blushed harder, determinedly looking away as Peter got to his feet and slung the towel around his hips.

One hand covering the full erection between his legs, Miggs tugged his own towel back into place, cheeks burning as he awkwardly climbed to his feet. Peter rubbed at the back of his neck, other hand holding his towel in front of himself as he jerked his head towards the door.

“Yeah, go, I’m gonna…dry off,” Miggs said, staring down at his feet as Peter turned and left the room, shutting the door behind himself. Miggs groped for the light switch for a second before flicking it on, the fan roaring to life and sucking up the steam that had gathered in the bathroom.

Biting his lip, Miggs locked the door and leaned a hand against the back of it, dropping his towel to the ground and wrapping his fingers around his cock. He whimpered as he started stroking, a little bit of guilt eating at him as he thought about Peter on top of him, about what might have happened if he’d rubbed up against Peter instead, if it would make Peter moan, Miggs’ cock rubbing against his skin, if Peter would start getting hard, too, if he would grind against _Miggs._ If he would touch Miggs, kiss him, wrap a large hand around both of them and stroke until—until—

Miggs gasped and cupped a palm over the head of his cock as he started coming, not wanting to get any on the door in front of him. He bit his lip against a moan as he trembled, hips rocking forward against his hand until he finally relaxed. Taking a shaky breath, Miggs pushed off the door and picked up his towel, wiping his hand and softening cock clean before tossing it in a corner and grabbing two fresh ones, one for his waist and one to wrap around his shoulders and hide his back.

Miggs left the bathroom to see Peter fully dressed and sitting on the loveseat in front of the TV, remote in one hand and casually watching what looked like a comedy show of some kind. He glanced over at Miggs as he came closer, eyes running over him before giving him a friendly smile and turning his attention back to the TV. Miggs bit his lip and walked to where their bags were by the bed, unzipping his and digging through it until he found underwear and an undershirt. He tugged the briefs on first and then slipped the undershirt over his head, hefting the bag up onto the bed so he could search for pants.

“So when are we doing this recon thing?” Miggs asked, prompting Peter to look over at him again. He stared at Miggs’ legs for a minute, and Miggs self-consciously shifted from one foot to the other, left hand dropping to trace over a couple of the stretch marks on the outside of his thigh. Peter looked away after a second, moving his gaze to Miggs’ face with a slight flush in his cheeks even as he frowned at him.

Peter tossed the remote on the couch and got up to walk closer, and Miggs watched nervously as Peter came up in front of him, feeling a little exposed in just his underclothes while Peter was fully dressed. Peter leaned in and Miggs’ breath caught, stomach knotting up as Peter brushed up against his front, close enough to kiss if Miggs just tilted his head back and went up on his toes—

And then Peter leaned back again, having picked up his notepad from where it was sitting on the bedspread and pulling the pencil free of the spiral binding to start writing. Miggs squashed the sense of disappointment quivering in his stomach, glancing down at his open luggage. Peter pushed the notepad at him, and Miggs took it to read the note.

**_‘We’ are not going._ ** **_I’m_ ** **_going to break into Keller’s office around 2._ **

“But—” Miggs blinked at the note before looking up at Peter, scowling. “But I can _help._ ” Peter scowled back and shook his head. “Peter! I’m here to help, I’m not just going to sit here while you’re out doing whatever with no backup!”

Peter took the notepad back and added another line, giving Miggs a stern look.

**_You’re here to be my_ ** **_cover._ **

Miggs glared at Peter, turning back to the bed and leaning over it to shove the bag aside and dig through the papers they’d looked at earlier until he found the one he was looking for.

“Couples are to spend the majority of their time _together_ ,” Miggs said, showing Peter the resort rules. “What are you going to do if you get caught?”

**_I won’t get caught._ ** Peter rolled his eyes and Miggs glowered.

“And if you _do?”_ Miggs pressed, tossing the paper aside. “What are you gonna tell them? That we had a fight? They’ll be all over us in a fucking hot second, it’s a _couples_ retreat, Peter, they’ll send us to counseling or something and then we’ll have to make up fake problems for our fake marriage!” Peter frowned at him, and Miggs crossed his arms over his chest, continuing, “And that’ll eat into snooping time later. I can _help._ Trust me.” Peter hesitated and then nodded, and Miggs grinned at him.

“Knew you married me for a reason,” he teased, playful smile faltering when Peter blushed. “You okay?” Peter nodded, quickly going back to his notepad.

**_Ok you can come, but you have to do what I say. No taking off on your own. Promise?_ **

“Promise,” Miggs said, using one hand to cross over his heart as he crossed the fingers of the one he’d pushed into the bag. A second later he pulled out a pair of dark pants, yanking them on as Peter walked back to the couch, running a hand through his damp hair.


	5. Show and Tell

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Heeeeeeeeey this is sTILL TECHNICALLY ON TIME IT'S STILL TUESDAY HERE I'M SORRY but I finally saw Star Wars TFA and Deadpool, and had a family bbq which is why this is late I'm sorryyyy hopefully it being a bit long helps make up for it?? ;A; 
> 
> Also everyone who has commented so far, thank you so much, you're so lovely and I appreciate the comments so much <3 <3

Miggs woke when Peter jostled his shoulder. He’d sat down with Peter to watch TV until it was time to go snooping, and apparently dozed off, and Peter looked a little amused as he held up his notepad so Miggs could read it.

**_Ready to go, super sleuth?_ **

“Fuck off,” Miggs grumbled, rubbing at his eyes as he tried to wake himself up. Peter chuckled and tucked his notepad away, gesturing for Miggs to follow him. Pausing to shove his feet into his shoes, Miggs did so. The hall outside their suite was empty, as was the elevator, which was a little uncanny compared to earlier in the day. While in the elevator Peter pulled out the map of the resort, showing it to Miggs and pointing at where a small cluster of unlabeled buildings were between the spa and the lobby.

“What’s there?” Miggs asked as the doors opened again. Peter gave him a flat look and Miggs grimaced. “Keller’s office?” he guessed as they left the elevator and started crossing the lobby. Peter nodded, tucking the map away and giving the lone desk attendant a charming smile when she watched them expectantly.

“Good evening, sirs,” she said, and Peter didn’t pause, just giving her a friendly nod as he took Miggs’ hand to pull him the rest of the way across the room and out to the mezzanine.

“What if she follows us?” Miggs mumbled when they were out of the attendant’s sight, glancing back over his shoulder. Peter shook his head and just headed for an archway in the wall similar to the one that led off to the boardwalk further down. Miggs hurried after him, looking around the office-like walls and doors of the hall.

“How do we know which one is—oh,” Miggs blinked at one of the doors, noticing the tiny black sensor near the top right corner. “It’s this one.” Peter turned to look at him, frowning until Miggs pointed out the sensor.

“My dad had ones like that on the basement door,” he said, lifting up on his toes to better see it. “These are smaller, but it’s the same sort of thing. I’ve adapted the old design for my place, I’m surprised you didn’t notice them.” Peter nodded and tugged Miggs away from the door, pressing a thumb against his watch to spin the face around until it was upside down and then pushing a button on the side. A soft buzz came from the watch and Peter peered down at the screen for a second before nodding and digging around in his pocket before pulling out something that looked like a penny but grey. Flicking it at the door, Miggs blinked at the pale whitish-blue crackle of energy that spiked from the sensor to strike the not-penny. The sensor made a wheezing sound and then went silent, the coin-like object Peter had flicked dropping to the floor and rolling until it knocked into his shoe.

Bending down, Peter scooped it up and put it back in his pocket as Miggs asked, “What did that do?” Peter glanced at him and then reached forward to turn the knob and open the door.

Nothing happened and Miggs blinked and then scowled.

“So that’s how you’re getting through mine,” Miggs growled. Peter grinned and winked at him, holding up two fingers before gesturing at the door. “What, mine take two? Big whoop, you’re still getting through them instead of around like I thought.” Peter huffed and ducked into the office, and Miggs quickly followed.

The office was messy and cluttered, nothing like Hoffman’s at O.W.C.A. The desk was tucked in one corner, shelving above it overflowing with binders and books with papers sticking out of them, and a computer droning in sleep mode on its surface. There were a couple of filing cabinets and a bookcase on the walls, along with a motivational kitten poster and a cat-themed calendar.

Peter went straight to the computer and pulled on a pair of gloves he’d had tucked in his back pocket to tap at the keyboard until the screen lit up. He scowled at the lockscreen, digging around in his pockets again.

“Try ‘Elise,’” Miggs said, making him look up. Peter frowned, hesitating before typing it in. The welcome screen popped up and Peter frowned at him, and Miggs shrugged. “It was his first wife’s name, and the password for the computer of his I hacked when I was eight.” The corner of Peter’s mouth twitched, and Miggs watched as he started digging through the computer.

Miggs turned to the filing cabinets, dragging the first one open and peering inside.

It was full of records of people who had stayed at the resort, this drawer full of guests with surnames A through F. Curious, Miggs flicked through the names, using the knuckle of his pinky so he wouldn’t leave any prints.

Nothing stuck out to him, so he shut the drawer and searched for the one with the Os.

It took him a minute to find his and Peter’s file, using the edge of his shirt to pull it free of the drawer and flick it open. There were copies of their marriage documents inside, along with a photo of them that looked like a frame from a security camera set over the front desk in the lobby. The resort package they’d secured through O.W.C.A. was in there as well, a sticky note stuck to the first page that just read, _No Footage._

“No footage? What the fuck no footage,” Miggs mumbled, glancing at the security shot again. “Peter? You find anything weird?” Peter hummed and Miggs took that as a _no,_ so he turned to beckon him over. “Come look at our file.” Peter appeared behind him after a second, one hand on Miggs’ shoulder and the other flicking through the contents of the folder. He paused on the note as well, and when Miggs looked up, he was frowning.

“What’s it supposed to mean? Obviously they’ve caught us on camera,” Miggs said, gesturing at the photo, and Peter nodded. He reached past Miggs and tugged out another file at random from the drawer.

The name was Olson, and the file held much the same thing as theirs, except the sticky note read _3 hrs. Mission. Cwgrl. Shwr. Blow._

“Uhm,” Miggs frowned at the handwriting, comparing it to what little he could remember of Keller’s. “I don’t know if that’s Ian’s handwriting or not.” Peter hummed and pulled another file, flipping it open.

_Oliver. 2.5 hrs. Mission. Dog._

“It doesn’t make any sense,” Miggs muttered. “What are these supposed to mean? And then ‘no footage’ in ours? What is everyone else here doing that we’re not?” Peter went very still next to him, and Miggs looked up to see Peter staring down at the open folders with his mouth open. “What?” Peter looked at him and blinked, then gestured at the sticky notes, giving Miggs an awkward face. When he got nothing but a blank look from Miggs, Peter sighed and pulled out his notepad to scrawl something out quickly.

**_Sex, Miggs. They’re having sex and we’re not. Missionary, cowgirl, shower, blowjob, it’s sex._ **

“Oh,” Miggs said, blushing and swallowing hard. “Uh. Footage. They’re…filming them.” Peter nodded, glancing down at the folders again. “They’re…they’re filming _us._ ” Peter nodded again, grimacing. “And they know we’re not fucking.” Another nod and a soft groan as he straightened up and turned away. “Do you think they have audio, too?” Miggs asked, suddenly aware of all the things he’d said about O.W.CA. and snooping and _fake marriage._ He looked up at Peter, but he was shaking his head, scratching out another note.

**_No, or we’d have been caught out already._ **

“Caught out. Peter, caught _out…_ they know we’re not in our room,” Miggs said, glancing down at the folders and quickly stuffing them down into the cabinet as close to their proper places as he could. Peter nodded, quickly going to the computer and closing out of whatever he’d opened and shutting it again. They hurried out of the room, Miggs shutting the door behind them as Peter stripped off his gloves to shove them back in his pocket with his notepad. They started down the hall for the mezzanine but Miggs froze when footsteps sounded from that direction.

“Shit,” he hissed, glancing at Peter in panic. Peter stared at him, grimacing and then grabbing Miggs and pushing him against the nearest wall. “P-Peter, what—Oh!” Miggs gasped when Peter grabbed his hips, lifting him up, one hand sliding down behind Miggs’ thigh to hitch his knee up by Peter’s hip. Peter pressed his face into Miggs’ neck, and Miggs awkwardly put his hands on Peter’s shoulders, staring up at the ceiling and trying not to do anything inappropriate. Peter lifted his head to stare at him in disbelief, tightening his grip on Miggs’ hip and leg as if expecting him to do something.

“What?” Miggs hissed and Peter growled, rolling his eyes before letting go of Miggs’ hip to knot his fingers in Miggs’ hair and pull on it, hard, leaning into press his face to his throat again. Miggs gasped at the pull and Peter grumbled and then dragged his tongue up Miggs’ neck, kissing at his pulse point before latching on and sucking hard. Miggs moaned before he could think better of it, whimpering as his hips jumped forward to grind against Peter’s. Peter groaned and pushed his hips forward, thrusting up against the fork of Miggs’ legs like he couldn’t help himself.

“Oh, God,” Miggs gasped, arching as Peter licked and bit at him again, sucking down near the crook of his shoulder. _“Peter_!”

Peter growled, fingers tightening in Miggs’ hair, mouthing at him like he couldn’t get enough, hips rolling forward in a suddenly desperate rhythm, something hard pressing against Miggs’ ass when Peter’ dragged him down against him—

A delicate cough sounded and they both froze, and Miggs peeked over Peter’s shoulder to see the woman from the front desk standing there, hands folded demurely in front of her.

“Pardon the interruption, sirs, but the resort rules clearly state there is to be no sexual activity outside of your hotel room,” she said, voice monotone and firm. “I must please ask you to return there now, this area is restricted.” Panting, Miggs glanced at Peter, who stared back at him, face unreadable.

“But, um,” Miggs managed to say, voice rough and wobbling, “isn’t this the way to the boardwalk? We were, uh, going to the beach and, um…got…distracted.” Miggs blushed, ducking his head to press his face into Peter’s shoulder, shyly peeking up at the attendant. She blinked and then gave him a small smile.

“Oh, no, you must have gotten turned around in the dark,” she said, pointing back the way she’d come. “The boardwalk is two entries down. This is the private offices of the staff. There’s usually a rope, but we take it down at night so Mr. Keller won’t trip on it.”

“Oh,” Miggs said, blushing as Peter slowly pulled back from him, giving the attendant a sheepish grin. She smiled at them both and stepped aside to point them back towards the mezzanine and they hurried to obey, turning to the left when she followed them out. Peter looped an arm around Miggs’ waist as they walked, turning his head to nuzzle against his hair while watching the attendant watch them walk to the boardwalk entrance and then step through it.

“So I guess we’re going to the beach for a while,” Miggs mumbled and Peter nodded, huffing and giving him a slightly irritated look. “What? It was the only thing I could think of and it’s not like _you_ were coming up with ideas.” Peter rolled his eyes and dropped his grip on Miggs’ waist to hold his hand instead as they took the stairs down from the boardwalk to the sand of the beach.

“You totally would have gotten caught if I hadn’t been there,” Miggs said after a second of walking, scowling down at the sand getting into his shoes. He tugged Peter to a stop and bent down to pull them off, holding them in his hands as he walked barefoot. He paused to wait as Peter copied him, taking his hand again when he caught up. “And you probably wouldn’t have looked in the files in time to find out about them filming everyone having sex.” Peter grumbled and conceded nothing, making Miggs smirk. “Admit it.” Peter growled and pushed at Miggs, making him stumble on the soft sand. “Hey, fuck you, I’m the only reason we’re not sitting in Keller’s dungeon or whatever right now.” Peter groaned and rolled his eyes. “What? Some villains have dungeons.” Peter lifted an eyebrow at him and Miggs huffed. “No, _I_ don’t have one, I rent my place, you know that.” Peter smirked and nodded, swiping his foot across the ground to kick sand at Miggs. “Hey, fuck you, I just got all this shit off a couple hours ago!” Peter grinned and kicked again and Miggs tried to jump out of the way, instead just slipping on the sand and falling over, with a very annoying sense of deja vu as he dragged Peter down with him.

Miggs gasped when water splashed up around his head and shoulders as he landed, soaking his hair and the top of his shirt. Sputtering, Miggs sat up and nearly smacked foreheads with Peter, who was on his hands and knees above him, hands buried in the sand as the ocean lapped at the shore beneath them. Peter stared at him for a second, mouth hanging open as Miggs blinked at him, lips pressing into a thin line. After a second Peter’s mouth snapped shut and his face tensed, and Miggs knew him more than well enough to know that the man was trying very, very, _very_ hard not to laugh.

Miggs did not appreciate the effort at all.

“Oh, fuck you, asshole, this is your fault,” Miggs growled, swiping a hand through the water behind him to splash Peter right in the face. It broke his concentration and Peter laughed, full and deep and loud, and Miggs stilled as he listened, stomach jumping wildly as Peter fell off him to one side, elbow in the surf and his other hand coming up to cover his face as he laughed and laughed and _laughed._

Miggs wondered if it was possible to recognize the exact moment you fell in love with someone.

And then he growled and scrambled to his knees to throw himself at Peter and push him back into the water so he got soaked, too. Peter came back up gasping and staring at him, reaching up to quickly dig his fingers into his ears.

“Peter?” Miggs asked when Peter just shook his head, pulling something small and curved out of one ear and then the other. “What are those?’ Peter looked up at him and bit his lip, soaked and suddenly looking very vulnerable. “Um. Are those…?” Peter hesitated and then sighed, clenching the tiny objects in one fist and nodding, looking away. “You can’t hear me, can you.” Peter didn’t respond, staring down at the beach with a miserable expression. “Hey.” Miggs reached out and touched Peter’s chin to get his attention, turning him to face Miggs. “Um. I’m sorry if I broke them.” Peter shrugged, waving between the hearing aids in his hand and the top of his head, miming putting on a hat. “O.W.C.A.?” Peter nodded, looking vaguely uncomfortable.

Biting his lip, Miggs cupped Peter’s jaw to hold his attention as he said, “You didn’t want to tell me.” Peter shook his head, shoving the aids down into his pocket and reaching up to push his wet hair out of his face. Miggs pulled away, hesitating for a long moment before starting to undo the buttons of his shirt. Peter grunted in confusion, watching him and frowning as Miggs pulled off his shirt and tossed it up the beach, out of reach of the water, and then peeled off his undershirt. Peter’s eyes darted over his chest before going up to his face, looking confused and wary.

“You didn’t want to tell me,” Miggs said, making sure to mouth the words as clearly as possible as he spoke so Peter could read his lips easily. “So this…this is something I didn’t want to tell you.” Peter blinked and then reached out to stop him, but Miggs spun on his knees and then sat down with his legs crossed under him, back to Peter.

For a long, long time, nothing moved but the water.

Miggs stared out over the stretch of beach back towards the boardwalk, trying not to tremble as Peter didn’t move behind him.

And then there was a gentle touch at the top of his spine, making him twitch. The touch vanished and Miggs leaned forward, arms curled in his lap as he bent nearly in half. Peter touched at the back of his neck again, tracing down his spine, fingers bumping over the scars and knots of Miggs’ back. Miggs shivered as Peter touched him, heart pounding in his chest as Peter put both hands on his back and skimmed his palms up and down the length of his torso, feeling every bump and twist and whorl, every old wound and burn and surgical cut, long since healed, at least on the surface.

When Peter’s touch pulled away, Miggs turned to look at him, insides feeling like they were made of lead.

But Peter didn’t look disgusted or pitying or curious, simply a little sad and a little touched, reaching out to pull Miggs back into facing him. He dug out his notepad, which was a little wet and sandy, but the pen still worked as he looped out a note on a mostly-dry page.

**_I’ve been profoundly deaf since birth. Only got the aids when I was twenty-five._ **

Miggs hesitated, and then took the pen and pad from Peter to write his own note.

**_When I was 27 I interned at a company called Ridgetechs Amalgamated Research. There was an accident, I got hurt. Crippled me for three years. Only been walking unassisted since about six months before I met you._ **

Peter read over the note and let out a small sound, frowning as he looked at Miggs again before nodding slightly and tossing the notepad up the beach towards Miggs’ clothes, pen joining it a moment later.

Miggs turned to see Peter watching him, a small, incredulous smile playing around his mouth. “What?” he asked, and Peter just shook his head, reaching over to knock Miggs’ arm out from under him and send him splaying back into the water.

“Oh, _fuck_ you,” Miggs spat when he managed to sit up again, flinging water everywhere when he flicked his sopping hair out of his face. “You better not have any other little devices on you because you are getting _soaked._ ” Peter started laughing again, the sound louder and hitching without his aids in, but Miggs didn’t care. Peter’s laugh was Peter’s _laugh,_ and he wanted to listen to it forever.

But first he wanted to get the man sopping wet in revenge, so he tackled him, sending them both sprawling back into the water. Peter growled and rolled with it, water rushing in Miggs’ ears as they tumbled deeper into the water, rolling through the shallows and getting very thoroughly soaked to the bone. Miggs struggled to keep his advantage, grinning when he realized Peter wasn’t holding back even though he knew about the scars, even though he knew Miggs was broken. Peter grinned back, hand coming up against Miggs’ side like it would have when they fought as nemeses, except instead of a fist, his palm pressed into Miggs’ hip and pushed until they rolled.

Sputtering and splashing and laughing, they wrestled, getting sand and water everywhere they could imagine and several places they wished they hadn’t.

But fighting, even play-fighting, in water was much more exhausting more quickly than regular, dry-land fighting, and soon they were both laying on their backs in the shallow water, panting and staring up at the stretch of night sky above them. It was a little cloudy, but clearer than any night in Seattle Miggs had seen for a long time, and Miggs found himself wondering suddenly if his parents were orbiting above them right now.

Sitting up abruptly, Miggs turned to look at Peter, who was wheezing a little as he lifted an eyebrow at him.

“Can you swim?” Miggs asked, and after a long minute, Peter nodded, glancing towards the open expanse of the water, which went on and on to the edge of the world. Miggs leaned down, following his gaze before looking back at him and letting a small, wicked grin spread over his face. Peter watched, eyes half-lidded and a tiny, interested smirk spreading over his face as Miggs leaned over him, one hand coming up to tuck his wet hair behind his ear as he said softly, “Come with me.” Peter didn’t even hesitate, just nodded and reaching out to tangle his left hand with Miggs’, their rings bumping together as they threaded their fingers together. Miggs got to his feet and then dragged Peter up as well, slogging out of the water and up the beach a little to undo his belt and drop his soaking pants. Peter pulled off his glasses, tossing them aside, and then followed suit, and they both hesitated at their underwear, looking up at each other. Miggs swallowed dryly as Peter’s eyes dragged down his body, lingering on where his fingers were hovering by the waistband of his soaked briefs.

Biting his lip, Miggs slowly hooked his thumbs in the top of his underwear, staring at Peter. Peter’s eyes jumped from his waist to his face, licking his lips and breath coming a little faster.

“You, uh,” Miggs said, pushing them down a little and nearly whimpering when Peter started copying him, thumbs in his boxers, slowly sliding the wet, clinging material down as Miggs did. “You ever skinny dipped before?” Peter smirked and then nodded, and Miggs flushed. “I haven’t.” Peter tilted his head to one side and then grinned, shoving his underwear down and letting them drop to his ankles.

Miggs blushed furiously, heart jumping into his throat as Peter stood completely naked in front of him, unobscured by steam or a towel or anything at all. Miggs stared at the soft line of his cock between his legs for a second, quickly jerking his gaze back up to Peter’s face. He was blushing, but seemed determined to remain nonchalant, lifting an eyebrow as he waved a hand at where Miggs’ underwear were still clinging to his hips.

“Um,” Miggs bit his lip and then nodded, quickly pushing them down before he could lose his nerve. “Okay.” He kicked them off before he could give in to the urge to yank them back up, crossing his arms over his stomach to resist hiding his crotch from Peter again. He looked up nervously, and Peter was ogling him a little, but he quickly winked and jerked his head at the water. Miggs nodded and hurried back down the beach, rushing into the water until it was up over his waist. He turned around to see Peter right behind him, smirking and flushed.

The water was relatively warm, a sharp contrast to the icy waters of the ocean near Seattle, and after a minute Miggs got deep enough that his feet weren’t touching the bottom anymore. Grinning, he dunked under and twisted through the water, coming up a moment later for air. Peter was watching him, grinning and flicking his wet hair out of his face.

“Why do you always push it back?” Miggs asked, and Peter frowned at him, apparently not catching what he said, so Miggs swam closer until he was right in front of Peter, kicking with his feet and moving his arms to keep the gentle waves from pushing him around too much as he lifted his chin towards Peter’s hair. “You’ve always got it pushed back. I don’t think I’ve ever seen it brushed forward.” Peter shrugged, going still when Miggs lifted one hand towards his head. “Can I…?” Peter nodded after a second, and Miggs lifted both hands out of the water to touch and pull at Peter’s hair gently until it was tugged forward over his forehead, curling slightly and nearly covering one eye.

He looked younger like that somehow, without his glasses and charming grin, just looking at Miggs curiously with sea water clinging to his skin and his eyes so very bright blue, even in the dark.

“Oh, I’m in trouble,” Miggs mumbled, shaking his head when Peter frowned, unable to understand.

Miggs gasped when the water rolled with a small wave, pushing them towards the shore and Miggs right up against Peter. Peter’s arms came up around him almost instinctively, hands cupping his bare hips and sliding up to the small of his back, their fronts pressing together. Miggs flushed at the feel of Peter’s naked body against his again, hot compared to the warmth of the water, and soft and so very, very tempting…

“Sorry,” Miggs mumbled, pushing away from Peter and slowly drifting back towards the shore. If they stayed out here much longer, Miggs would probably end up throwing himself at Peter, and that was one rejection he could live without, thank you very much. Not to mention it would make the rest of their fake marriage very awkward. “We should get back, it’s like four AM.” Peter hesitated and then nodded, and they both started swimming back for the shore.


	6. Chapter 6

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> OkAY THIS ONE IS LATE I'M SORRY in my defense I've had a tough couple of weeks and fic has kinda been on the back burner im sooorryyyy ;n;

Sand was everywhere, and it sucked.

“I never want to go to the beach again,” Miggs groused as they gingerly made their way back through the mezzanine, wincing every time their sandy, sea-water stiff clothes rubbed against their equally sandy skin. Peter nodded in agreement, and they both awkwardly waved at the desk attendant, who watched them make their way across the lobby to the elevator, eyes a little wide. The doors shut and Miggs caught sight of them in the reflective metal and groaned. “We look like we just fucked like animals on the beach.” Peter huffed in amusement, wincing as he fumbled for his notepad, the paper curling as it slowly dried.

**_At least they think we’re fucking like everyone else now, if just breaking hotel rules._ **

Miggs frowned, glancing up at the ceiling. “We have to do something about that,” he said. “We…fuck, we’re gonna have to fake having sex, aren’t we. Like under the blanket or something.” Peter paused and then grimaced.

**_Probably. Otherwise it’s going to be suspicious._ **

Miggs sighed. “We had to be honeymooners. Honeymooners fuck  _ so much _ , Peter.” Peter laughed softly, following Miggs out of the elevator and down the hall to their suite. “Are we faking morning sex tomorrow, then? Oh, God, stay away from the bed until we get rid of the sand, I don’t want to die.” Peter nodded and headed right for the bathroom, and Miggs followed him, not bothering to turn on the light and stripping out of the sandy clothes as fast as he could. Peter didn’t even bother getting undressed, just walked straight into the shower and turned it on, tossing his clothes out the door after a second, sopping wet again. Miggs glanced at the tub, wondering if he was supposed to wash the sand off like he had earlier, or…

“Uh…” Miggs hesitated and then knocked against the shower door before remembering Peter couldn’t hear. “Oh, fuck it.” They’d already seen each other naked, and if Miggs had to be covered in sand one second longer, he was going to blast Keller with a laser gun the moment he saw him for building this damn place and inadvertently making Miggs come here and end up covered in sand. Miggs climbed into the shower behind Peter, who made a startled sound when he turned around and saw him.

“Um.” Miggs hesitated and then rubbed his fist against his chest like he’d seen Peter do, grimacing. Peter stared and then his expression softened, gesturing at Miggs and then at the shower head. Miggs nodded and Peter stepped back, leaning on the tile wall so Miggs could get under the spray. Miggs let out a relieved sigh as he started scrubbing the sand free of his skin, dunking his head under to try and get the sand out of his hair as well. That was going to be harder.

He jumped when something cold and thick dripped over his fingers, and he looked up to see Peter holding a shampoo bottle. Peter shrugged and then drizzled more into his palm, reaching out to smear it over the top of Miggs’ head. Miggs blinked at him as Peter hesitantly started working the shampoo into his hair, fingers gentle but firm as he rubbed at Miggs’ scalp. Miggs struggled not to melt under his touch but he couldn’t stop it, his own hands slipping from his hair to his neck then sliding down the rest of his body to hang at his sides.

Peter hummed as he lifted both hands to work the shampoo through Miggs’ hair, a small smile playing around his lips as Miggs gradually relaxed under his touch. With a soft moan, Miggs swayed forward and ended up pressed against Peter, making him gasp.

“Sorry,” Miggs mumbled against Peter’s shoulder and making no effort to move. “M’kinda tired.” Peter didn’t move for a long second and then just resumed washing Miggs’ hair, fingers dragging through his curls, stroking and tugging and rubbing until Miggs was plastered against him and moaning obscenely. It didn’t matter, Peter couldn’t hear it, Miggs could moan all he wanted and Peter would never know.

Peter groaned softly after a minute, the vibration resonating in Miggs’ chest, and Miggs’ eyes widened briefly as he realized Peter could feel him moaning, and he blushed as Peter pulled on his hair until he was arching back into the water to rinse clean. Miggs whimpered at the pull, blushing as his cock thickened, nudging at Peter’s hip. Peter flushed and shifted, and Miggs quickly reached up to rub his fist against his chest again, blushing.

“Sorry, sorry,” Miggs mumbled, twisting until he was able to get away from Peter. Glancing over his shoulder he saw Peter biting his lip, eyes on Miggs’ ass. “Peter?” Miggs waved a hand at him and Peter’s eyes jerked up, looking guilty. Miggs flushed and looked away, reaching up to run his hands through his hair, checking how free of sand and shampoo it was.

“I’m gonna…get out,” Miggs muttered, jerking his thumb at the shower door so Peter would understand. Peter nodded after a second and Miggs quickly escaped the shower, keeping his back to Peter so the man wouldn’t see the erection he was sporting, snagging a towel to start drying off. Peter was still in the shower when Miggs walked back out into the main room of the suite, rubbing a towel against his head until his hair was dry enough to sleep on. Miggs debated crawling in bed naked for a few minutes before losing his nerve and pulling on underwear and a soft t-shirt to sleep in, trying to tamp down on his arousal until his erection went away.

He was curled up against the headboard, a book balanced on his knees to read, when Peter finally emerged from the bathroom, flushed and damp with a towel in one hand, sunglasses on his face and nothing else.

“Peter,” Miggs protested, lifting his book to hide his blush and keep himself from staring as Peter rooted through his bag until he found a pair of boxers. “Fucking shameless.” Peter didn’t hear, tossing the towel aside to unzip a pocket on the side of his bag and pull out a white case and pop it open. He pushed something small and oblong into each of his ears, frowning as he snapped his fingers by each until he gave a satisfied nod.

“Um,” Miggs said, and Peter looked up, able to hear again with the spare aids in. “I’m still sorry about the other pair.” Peter shrugged and mimed putting on a hat again before throwing back the covers to climb into bed next to Miggs, yawning. Peter sat back against the headboard next to Miggs, reaching over to snag his notepad and pen from the nightstand, rolling the pen in his fingers for a minute before scratching out a note and handing it to him.

**_Not just sex we’re going to have to fake. They’re going to get suspicious of our lack of PDA. We haven’t done much more than hold hands, and that’s going to start sticking out soon._ **

Miggs swallowed weakly, pushing the notepad back at Peter.

“You mean kissing,” Miggs mumbled, and Peter nodded, grimacing a bit. “We’re gonna have to…practice, or something. Cause otherwise it’ll look stiff, if we have to kiss on cue to throw them off.” Peter nodded, a hint of pink in his cheeks as he spun the pen in his fingers like he did when he was thinking.

**_Practice now?_ **

Peter pushed the note at Miggs, mouth pressed into a thin line as he apparently tried his hardest to suppress the flush growing over his cheekbones and darkening the tips of his ears. Miggs’ mouth went dry and he swallowed, hoping his voice wouldn’t betray him as much as his face when he spoke.

“If—If you really think we should,” Miggs managed to say, the tiniest hint of a rasp to his words. Peter stared at him for a second, eyes flicking from his eyes to his mouth before nodding and leaning over to set the notepad aside. Miggs did the same with his book, heart pounding in his chest as he set his novel down and then just stared at it, wondering how the hell this was supposed to work. Were they just going to brush lips and then lay down to sleep like it was normal? Were they going to start making out like teenagers until Miggs embarrassed himself and Peter had to gently remind him that it was just for show?

Miggs was on the edge of a full-blown panic when Peter reached out to tug him around, taking in Miggs’ awkward body language and apprehensive expression. Peter smiled a little crookedly and pulled Miggs gently until he ended up curled against his side, no more intimate than anything they’d done in the last few hours, tugging the blanket up around them. After a moment, Miggs relaxed, and Peter hummed in satisfaction, turning his head to nuzzle into Miggs’ hair. Miggs let out a tense breath and tucked his face into Peter’s throat, wondering if Peter was just trying to reassure him or if this was some sort of pre-practice kissing warm up.

Peter’s lips brushed against his temple and Miggs decided it was probably the latter.

Taking a steadying breath, Miggs mentally shook himself. It was just kissing. He’d done much more with people he knew and trusted much less than Peter, and it was only so Peter could keep his cover long enough to catch the Kellers in whatever they were doing. He could let Peter kiss him and touch him for that, couldn’t he?

Miggs tipped his head back, looking up at Peter and biting his lip. Peter looked carefully neutral, a faint tinge of pink in his cheeks the only sign that he might be nervous, even his eyes smoothed out into a controlled sort of calm. Miggs’ heart thudded in his chest, a squeezing sensation around it making him stiffen as Peter leaned down to brush his mouth over Miggs’ cheekbone, light and gentle.

“Um,” Miggs twitched and ducked his head, burying his face in Peter’s throat again and trying not to let his breath hitch with panic. “Can you do me a favor?” Peter paused and then nodded, his right hand rubbing over Miggs’ back in an attempt to soothe.

Shutting his eyes in embarrassment, Miggs mumbled, “Can you not be Peter the Panda for the next few minutes. I—I know, the mission, but—I’d rather kiss my best friend than my nemesis. If—If you don’t…mind. Fuck. Sorry. It’s stupid.” Miggs squirmed, half-heartedly trying to pull away from Peter, but he caught Miggs’ arm with his left hand, wedding ring catching a bit of light from the lamp as he prevented Miggs from escaping. Peter shook his head, tightening his grip with his right arm as he leaned over to grab his notepad, balancing it on his leg so he could write on it before turning it to show Miggs where he was tucked against his side.

**_It’s not stupid. I don’t mind._ **

Miggs flushed and hesitantly nodded after a second, and Peter tossed the notepad aside, ignoring when it missed the nightstand and landed on the floor instead. Peter slipped a knuckle under Miggs’ chin, loosening his grip with his other arm to pull away and tilt Miggs’ head back so he could look at him. Miggs blushed and fidgeted as Peter’s eyes roamed over his face, fighting the urge to stick his tongue in the gap in his front teeth out of nervous habit. Peter was still pink and carefully-calm looking, but his eyes were softer, warmer, a small quirk at the corner of his mouth reminding Miggs of dozens of lunchtimes spent bantering back and forth in a way they never did as nemeses.

Peter slowly leaned down and brushed his lips over Miggs’ cheek again, gradually wandering closer to Miggs’ mouth until he whimpered and shut his eyes. Peter let out a soft sound, half a question, half concern, and Miggs wondered where the fuck he was supposed to put his hands as Peter cupped his jaw and rubbed his thumb along Miggs’ cheek. Peter hummed curiously when Miggs shivered, biting his lip briefly.

“I’m okay,” Miggs mumbled, peeking through his lashes at Peter, who was staring at him with a nervous look on his face. It made Miggs feel a little better to know that Peter wasn’t entirely confident about this whole thing either, a hint of uncertainty breaking through his usually suave exterior. Miggs blinked his eyes open further, hesitantly reaching up with his left hand to wrap it around the back of Peter’s neck, fingers threading through his dark hair.

“Kiss me?” Miggs mumbled, struggling not to blush as Peter’s eyes suddenly gained a spark of heat in them, something Miggs had never seen directed at him like this before. Peter pulled him closer and brushed his lips against Miggs’, light and brief. Peter’s mouth was warm, and there was the slightest hint of pressure, and then that was it, Peter was pulling away again. It’d hardly felt like anything at all, but Miggs’ heart was racing. There weren’t any fireworks or instant fires of lust racing through him, just the slightly panicked flush of excitement that made his stomach try to tie itself into knots when he kissed someone he really liked.

It’d been a long time since he’d felt something like that.

“Again,” Miggs asked, tone just a little demanding as he pulled Peter close to kiss him, small and short, but definitely a kiss. Peter let out a surprised sound and then kissed him back, just a gentle press and pull of his mouth against Miggs’ lower lip, and then he was pulling away again, looking flushed and confused.

“Something wrong?” Miggs asked, frowning as Peter hesitated for a brief second before shaking his head, left hand running down Miggs’ side to his hip and then up again. Miggs let out a quiet sound of appreciation at the touch, wrapping both arms around Peter’s neck and drawing him back in. “More?” he asked breathlessly, and Peter nodded, eyes dark and hooded as he slipped both arms around Miggs’ waist to tug him closer, the blanket bunching and tangling between them as Peter kissed him again. Miggs whimpered when Peter didn’t stop this time, pressing kisses to his mouth over and over, hardly anything intense or scandalous, but somehow sending pangs of…something, not quite arousal, through his body.

Miggs shuddered, licking his lips as Peter pulled away slightly and accidentally brushing over Peter’s upper lip. He growled softly and Miggs trembled, arching into Peter as he pulled Miggs back, ducking his head to kiss Miggs more firmly, tongue tracing the seam of Miggs’ mouth until he hesitantly opened for Peter. Another growl, louder, hungrier, and then Peter was licking his way into Miggs’ mouth, hot and wet and eager, and Miggs couldn’t stop the helpless moan Peter pulled from him. Peter shuddered and Miggs clung tighter to him as Peter broke away to pant for a second before kissing him again, no hesitance now, just need and surety. Miggs gasped as Peter pressed him flat against the bed, sliding half on top of him as he kept kissing him, kissing his mouth, his jaw, down his throat, mouthing at him and nipping until Miggs cried out. Peter paused until Miggs arched under him, hands clutching at Peter’s back.

“Don’t stop,” Miggs all but begged, biting his lip as Peter didn’t immediately resume his attention. After a beat, Peter bent his head and started kissing up Miggs’ throat, growling when Miggs moaned at the brief touch of his tongue and a gentle scrape of his teeth. He gasped when Peter closed his mouth over his pulse point, sucking until the skin bruised. Peter kissed up the line of his throat, biting again at the hinge of his jaw and petting at Miggs’ side as he left another mark. Miggs whimpered as Peter kissed along his jaw back to his mouth, tongue teasing at his lower lip before slipping past to trace along his teeth, poking into the gap in his front two.

Miggs quickly turned his head aside, blushing and covering his mouth with one hand. Peter made a concerned sound, going still above him as Miggs refused to look at him.

“Suh—sorry, I, um, I keep saving to have it fixed, but, uh—” Miggs stammered and then faltered when Peter growled, shaking his head and grabbing Miggs’ wrist to pull his hand away from his mouth, kissing at his jaw until Miggs turned his head so Peter could kiss his mouth again. He squirmed when Peter licked into his mouth, running his tongue over Miggs’ teeth and poking at the gap again. Miggs made a muffled sound of protest but Peter growled and kissed him more, tonguing at the space and letting out a thick groan that made Miggs arch at the pure need in it.

Peter pulled back, panting and shifting around on the bed a little bit, the spark in his eyes having grown to a fire as Miggs laid pliant and flushed under him. Peter’s left hand stroked over Miggs’ chest, thumb brushing over a peaked nipple through his shirt and making him gasp, and down his stomach to his waist, fingers slipping under the edge of the blanket and cupping his hip.

And then Miggs yawned, making Peter blink as he quickly clapped both hands over his face to muffle it.

“Sorry, fuck,” Miggs groaned as the yawn tapered off, squirming in embarrassment as Peter stared at him before glancing over at the alarm clock, which read about five AM or so. Peter huffed a laugh after a second, shaking his head and leaning down to nuzzle into Miggs’ throat, pressing a kiss to his skin before rolling away to switch off the lamp on his side, picking up the case for his aids so he could take them out and put them away. Miggs laid there for a second before turning to shut his own light off as well, jumping in surprise when Peter slid up behind him, wrapping an arm around his waist to hold him close, pulling him so his back was to Peter’s chest but their hips were still a reasonable distance apart.

Miggs let out a breath when Peter tucked his face into the back of Miggs’ neck, kissing him again with a soft hum. Tugging the blanket up around his shoulders, Miggs buried his face in his pillow, trying to subdue a silly smile creeping across his face from a mouth that was still buzzing from Peter’s kisses. 


	7. Chapter 7

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Originally this was gonna be two chapters, but I couldn't find a good place to cut it in half, so have a bit of a long one <3 (Also this is where we start to kinda earn our explicit rating so like....dicks ahead, fam.)

Fingers traced gently along the edge of his underwear, following the curve of his ass and up over his hip, the touch almost light enough to tickle. Miggs squirmed a bit and the touch disappeared, making him mumble wordlessly in complaint. After a brief second the touch returned, fingertips running along his skin, bringing goosebumps rising to the surface even under the warmth of the blanket. Sighing with the soft thrum of pleasure starting to spread through him, Miggs lifted his leg as the fingers wandered back behind him, lightly running along the sensitive skin at the crease where his thigh met his ass. A soft moan slipped free from his lips as the fingers dipped between his legs to cup gently at his sac through his underwear, sliding forward to rub at the base of his cock, which was throbbing with much more alert interest than the rest of Miggs. A rumbling groan came from behind him as Miggs lifted his leg higher, granting the hand more room to touch. Miggs whimpered as fingers traced along the crotch of his underwear, rubbing from perineum to the base of his cock. The touch pulled away when Miggs moaned again, hips lifting as he started to rut slightly against the mattress.

“Don’t stop,” Miggs mumbled, turning his head to crack one eye open, blinking against the fogginess of sleep. Peter was watching him with dark eyes, biting his lip. “Peter?” Miggs reached up to rub at his face with one hand, swallowing a yawn. “S’it time to get up already?” Peter shook his head and gestured at the clock, which read a little before six AM. Miggs groaned and buried his face in his pillow. Three days in a row now he’d been woken before six AM for one reason or another, and this time he’d gotten only an hour’s or so sleep beforehand.

“Why’d you wake me?” Miggs grumbled, turning his head again to give Peter a reproachful look. Peter rolled away to grope at the nightstand before turning his search to the floor, coming up with his notepad a minute later and flipping through it before writing a note showing it to Miggs.

**_Fake morning sex, remember?_ **

Miggs nodded and grumbled, pushing his face into his pillow as he yawned.

“It couldn’t have waited a few more hours?” he asked, watching Peter when he huffed in amusement, hair curling over his forehead from sleeping on it damp. Miggs shivered when Peter reached out to run his hand down Miggs’ back, stroking along his spine and tracing over a few scars. Miggs hummed and shut his eyes, arching under the touch as Peter let his hand wander over Miggs’ skin for a moment.

Miggs twitched when Peter leaned down to brush a kiss over the top of his spine, dropping a few more feather-light presses of his mouth along Miggs’ back. Miggs twitched occasionally as Peter touched him, starting to squirm as he got more aroused. He gasped when Peter laid half on top of him, pressing his face to the side of Miggs’ neck and humming, one hand stroking down Miggs’ back to grip his hip.

“P-Peter,” Miggs gasped, clutching the pillow under his head as Peter started mouthing at his neck, all teeth and wet tongue, biting and sucking to leave a hickey near the crook of his shoulder. Peter hummed, breath warm and a little fast against Miggs’ skin as he tugged at Miggs’ hip until he went up on his knees. Blushing, Miggs hid his face in his pillow as Peter ran his hand over Miggs’ ass, fingers trembling slightly. Miggs bit his lip and pushed back against the touch before he could second guess himself. Peter’s breath caught a little and Miggs trembled when Peter slipped his fingers over his underwear, sliding down to rub his middle finger along Miggs’ crack, brushing over his hole through the fabric and making him jump and whimper loudly. Peter moaned and pressed his finger harder against Miggs’ opening, prompting a gasp and full-body shudder.

“Wuh—what are you doing,” Miggs panted, struggling not to squirm back against Peter’s touch any more than he already was. Peter whimpered and pulled his hand away, making Miggs moan in disappointment. Miggs let Peter roll him until he was laying splayed on his back with Peter lying between his legs. Miggs flushed as Peter was made very aware of his erection, what with it pressing into his crotch and all. Peter was blushing as well, hard himself as he laid over Miggs with the blanket tugged up over them to hide that they weren’t actually fucking.

“S-sorry,” Miggs panted as Peter started moving his hips to make it look like he was fucking Miggs, keeping back a bit to keep them from actually frotting together. Peter bit his lip as Miggs squirmed under him, so very tempted to arch up into Peter, but instead just dropping his head back to stare at the ceiling, trying to swallow desperate whimpers whenever Peter touched him, grabbing his hip or shoulder occasionally.

“This is going to kill me if they have cameras on the ship, too,” Miggs rasped, and Peter lifted an eyebrow as he slid his hands behind Miggs’ knees to lift his legs up and slide down between them, disappearing mostly under the blanket to mime giving Miggs a blow job.

Miggs groaned and put both hands over his face, trembling as he felt Peter’s breath ghosting over his crotch and thighs. He hoped Peter wasn’t offended by how hard he was, by the wet spot he could feel forming on his underwear from the tip of his cock. Even Peter barely touching him had him ready to go off like a shot; he was struggling not to just reach down and stroke himself off until he came, he was so close. The only thing stopping him was that Peter is literally _right there,_ and Miggs was sure his husband, in a hilarious case of irony, would not appreciate Miggs coming all over his face.

Miggs shuddered, the thought of coming on Peter’s face not helping his current predicament of being embarrassingly hard while his fake-husband fake-sucked him off. Miggs pressed his hands harder over his face as Peter crawled back up the length of his body, reaching up to pull his hands away, looking a little concerned.

“M’okay,” Miggs mumbled, blushing as Peter laid on top of him to start kissing at his throat. Miggs’ hips twitched up automatically at the stimulation, and he gasped when Peter pressed back, both of them so very hard and not able to do much about it.

“Fuck, don’t do that I’ll come,” Miggs whimpered, and Peter trembled on top of him, giving a short nod as he took a deep breath next to Miggs’ throat before sliding off him to the side. Miggs shivered when Peter rolled onto his side to curl around Miggs until he turned onto his side as well, spooning behind him and nuzzling into the back of his neck again.

It took a while for Miggs to fall asleep, distracted by his persistent erection and far too vivid to be fair dreams whenever he started to drift off.

Still, he managed to slip off after a little while, Peter’s arm around his waist holding him close.

* * *

 When he woke up, Peter wasn’t in the bed, it was nearly five PM, and Miggs was _starving._ Groaning, he rolled over and then paused when he realized the front of his underwear was wet. Blushing, Miggs sat up suddenly and lifted the edge of the blanket to confirm his suspicions, the heat in his cheeks growing as he found that he had, in fact, come in his sleep.

“Shit,” Miggs mumbled, glancing around the suite and hoping Peter hadn’t been around for that. He slid out of bed and dug through his bag for fresh clothes, mincing his way into the bathroom to take a quick shower. The mirror was just slightly fogged, so Miggs guessed Peter had showered himself before leaving to do…whatever he was off doing. Miggs scowled as he stepped into the stall, hoping Peter wasn’t off snooping with no backup.

He nearly shrieked when a knock sounded on the shower door, whirling around to see Peter standing there, fully dressed and peeking around the edge.

“Peter!” Miggs gasped, putting a hand over his heart and pushing his wet hair out of his eyes so he wouldn’t get shampoo in them. “You _scared_ me, you asshole!” Peter flashed him a grin before tilting his head back towards the main room, and Miggs scowled, resisting the urge to cover himself as Peter’s eyes darted down over his naked body, a hint of pink warming Peter’s cheeks.

“I’ll be out in a minute. Where did you go?” Peter shook his head and shut the door again, leaving Miggs to finish his shower while grumbling under his breath.

Miggs stepped back into the main area of the suite dressed and rubbing a towel over his hair, glowering when Peter looked up from where he was sitting on the couch with a laptop on the table in front of him, phone and notepad to one side of it.

“So where the fuck did you go,” Miggs asked again, and Peter snagged his notepad and a pen to respond as Miggs sat down next to him.

**_Keller’s office._ **

“I’m assuming you didn’t get caught this time,” Miggs said, frowning when Peter nodded, grabbing his phone and pulling up the gallery to show Miggs a couple pictures. They were of their file, and a close up of the sticky note, which now read _Mssn, blow 1/2 hr_ instead of ‘no footage’ like before.

“So they bought it, that’s good,” Miggs mumbled, flushing as he remembered Peter laying on top of him and sliding down between his legs. “It’s a pretty good indicator they’ve got something shifty going on, what with recording their guests having sex.” Peter nodded, adding another note to his pad.

**_Most likely scenario is blackmail. Still have to find out what’s happening on the ship. There’s a semi-formal ball being held tonight, both Kellers will be there._ **

“So we will be, too?” Miggs guessed, and Peter nodded, turning to his other side to grab a white bag with the Keller Resort logo on it and hold it out to him, then waving a hand towards the bed, where a black garment bag was. The small bag had a to-go food container in it, and Miggs moaned in gratitude as he opened it to find a burger and fries.

“I love you,” Miggs said without thinking, quickly digging in. He froze when Peter turned to look at him, startled. “I—I mean, like, you know. Thanks for the food? I’m fucking starving, I haven’t eaten since dinner yesterday.” Miggs blushed and stammered, nearly dropping his food as he tried to recover. Peter stared at him for a second, blinking as his face flooded with color. He looked away after a second, waving a hand as he quickly added another line to his notepad.

**_Nbd, know what u meant. I rented u a suit for tonight, since u didn’t bring one._ **

“You didn’t tell me I’d need one,” Miggs muttered, quickly working his way through the fries and wondering how Peter knew his measurements, or if he’d just guessed. “When is the ball?”

**_7 PM._ **

Miggs glanced at the time on Peter’s laptop, nodding and starting on the burger as Peter tapped his pen against his chin before flipping to a new page to write **_Will be evaluating Keller & wife there, so we’ll need to be putting on a convincing show. Happy couple & all that. If Keller IS actually retired, might be wife behind scheme._ **

Miggs nodded again, pushing the last of the burger into his mouth and sucking a couple of his fingers clean of sauce and grease as he read. He looked up to see Peter staring at him, and pulled his fingers free to blush when Peter’s cheeks darkened again.

“Did O.W.C.A. look into her at all?” Miggs asked, clearing his throat awkwardly as Peter looked away to start tapping at the keys of his computer. Peter nodded, gesturing at the screen, where an O.W.C.A. evaluation of Patricia Keller appeared. Leaning closer, Miggs looked over the information there. Two years younger than her husband, no previous villain record, not even general criminal activity. She’d never even had so much as a parking ticket, apparently.

“Kinda squeaky clean there, don’t you think?” Miggs asked, and Peter grunted in agreement.

**_Suspiciously so. Possibly a fake identity, but a very good one if that’s the case. Could be using Keller._ **

Miggs scowled, wiping his fingers clean on a napkin before reaching up to push his unruly curls out of his face. “I don’t recognize her, so she’s not likely to have been openly active in the villain community at any point under another alias, I know most of us.” Peter nodded again, shooting him a look that mixed strangely between pride and fondness. Miggs flushed again as Peter turned back to the computer, sorting through Mrs. Keller’s file for a moment before closing the laptop, waving at Miggs and then at the garment bag on the bed.

“Oh, yeah, right,” Miggs said, quickly getting up and going to it, pulling the zipper down to tug out the suit inside. Glancing at Peter, who stood up and then quickly busied himself with his phone, Miggs pulled off his shirt and tossed it aside before dropping his pants, changing into the suit and trying to keep his blush under control as he caught Peter looking at him out of the corner of his eye.

The suit fit well, enough so that Miggs briefly wondered if Peter had measured him in his sleep before going to get it.

“How do I look?” Miggs asked, turning to face Peter, holding out his arms. Peter looked him up and down, frowning slightly before coming closer. He adjusted Miggs’ tie so that it was a little straighter, hesitating before brushing his hands along Miggs’ arms and torso to smooth out the jacket. Miggs’ mouth quirked into a smile when Peter reached up to try and pet Miggs’ hair into some semblance of order. “Yeah, good luck there,” he snorted, and Peter huffed in amusement, running his fingers through Miggs’ curls. Miggs let out a soft sound at the gentle tug, and Peter hummed quietly in response before hesitantly leaning in. Miggs flushed and closed his eyes, tilting his head a bit in invitation. Peter growled softly and pressed closer, arms slipping around Miggs’ waist to hold him as he leaned down to brush a kiss over his mouth. Miggs trembled and wrapped his arms around Peter’s neck to pull him in and kiss him more firmly. Peter groaned and clutched at him, sucking Miggs’ lower lip into his mouth as the kiss deepened and making him whimper. Miggs moaned and slipped his tongue into Peter’s mouth when he let go, hips pressing forward automatically when Peter let out a pleased noise. He tasted like toothpaste and Miggs shuddered as he felt Peter’s cock throb against him through their clothes. Peter whimpered when Miggs arched into him, kissing eagerly as he started to roll his hips against him helplessly, arousal quickly swelling in his stomach when Peter started grinding back, one hand sliding down to grab at Miggs’ ass.

“Oh, fuck,” Miggs gasped, clinging to Peter and tangling one hand in his hair as they started rutting together with a hint of desperation, both of them suddenly very hard. Peter let out a noise of agreement, pulling Miggs back into another kiss, making Miggs stumble a little as he pushed him against the wall next to the bed, hips rolling against Miggs’ eagerly. Miggs cried out when Peter started kissing down his jaw to this throat, sucking a bruise over his pulse point. Peter growled, both hands sliding to Miggs’ ass and encouraging him to buck against him.

“Fuck, oh God, _Peter._ ” Miggs arched into his husband, spreading his legs a bit and earning a needy whimper as Peter mouthed at his throat. “ _Hngh,_ shit, you’re going to wrinkle my suit, asshole,” Miggs panted, shuddering as Peter groped at him. Peter groaned and loosened his grip a little, hips stuttering a little in their rhythm.

“Please—” Miggs gasped, wanting _more,_ but Peter let out a shaky breath and dragged his cock against Miggs once before stopping, both of them breathing a little heavy. He was tempted to try and entice Peter into doing more, try to convince him that it didn’t count if they were both clothed, but he knew better. Peter pulled back to kiss him again, soft and far too affectionate to be fair before stepping away and frowning down at Miggs’ outfit. He tugged at Miggs’ jacket again, gesturing at his feet.

“Yeah, shoes,” Miggs huffed, still leaning back against the wall and trying to will his persistent erection away. Peter nodded and turned away to pull on a suit jacket and start putting on a tie, fingers deftly doing up the bow as Miggs walked past him to pull on socks and push his feet into his shoes. Peter gave him another once-over before nodding in satisfaction, pocketing his wallet, phone, and notepad before taking Miggs’ hand and leading him from the room.


	8. Chapter 8

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Congrats guys you're officially all caught up XD I have the rest of the fic plotted but not written, but I'll still be aiming for Tuesday updates, but they're no longer quite so guaranteed; I'll do my best, though! You can check my tumblr or twitter (both @pandashrine) if you wanna see for sure if hyp will be updating that day.

The elevator was crowded again, couples dressed in suits and nice dresses squeezing in together to take the cab down to the main floor before spilling out and making their way through to the mezzanine. The sweeping expanse of it had been transformed since Miggs last walked through it yesterday, paper lanterns strung along the edge of the open roof and bathing it in a soft light as the sun set and stars started to come out. A band was set up on a small stage, buffet tables covered in finger foods and drinks lined up against the walls. People milled around them, the middle of the room largely clear since most seemed too timid to start the dancing.

Peter rubbed his thumb over Miggs’ knuckles as he looked around the room, looking like he was merely taking in the scenery, but Miggs recognized the slight stoicism in his expression as Panda sizing up his assignment. Miggs looked away, eyes roaming the room as he tried to spot Keller. He didn’t have to look very hard, since a moment later a couple walked out into empty center of the room, arms linked. Ian Keller was dressed in a dark blue suit with golden buttons, thinning hair brushed back from his forehead and a slightly bemused smile on his face. On his arm was his wife, in a modest wine-colored dress that fell just past her knees in dozens of layers of airy fabric.

“Good evening!” Ian Keller called, gaining the attention of the room as the band played a soft waltz he could easily talk over. “Glad to see so many happy couples enjoying the party! I hope you’re all having a good time at the resort, and remember that the ship leaves at eight AM sharp, so don’t stay up too late!” He chortled and winked at his wife, who smiled indulgently before patting his arm.

“This is a ball, so I hope to see many of you dancing tonight,” she called, voice softer than Keller’s but carrying just as well. “So let’s have some fun, yes?” There was a touch of an accent to her words, and Miggs tried to place it briefly as the band upped their volume, Ian sweeping Patricia into his arms and starting up a chipper waltz.

Miggs gasped when Peter pulled him forward, grinning when Miggs hissed, “What are you doing!” and wrapping an arm around his waist to prevent him from escaping.

“Oh, no, no, Peter, I haven’t—” Miggs whispered as Peter tugged him out onto the floor with the Kellers, spinning him around to pull him close. “ _ Peter,  _ I haven’t danced since college, and that wasn’t—” Miggs blushed and glanced around self-consciously as Peter started rocking back and forth in a slight mockery of a waltz, a smile playing around his lips. “That wasn’t anything like ballroom dancing,” Miggs mumbled, clinging to Peter’s shoulder and hand as the man quickly took the lead, guiding him through a basic three-step waltz. Peter wagged his eyebrows in response and then tilted his head slightly in the direction of the Kellers, who were moving gracefully in a well-practiced dance nearby.

“I hate you and your dumb mission,” Miggs grumbled, relaxing slightly as he started to pick up the simple step-step-turn-step of the waltz. Peter grinned and increased their speed a bit more to fit the beat of the music, a few more couples joining them on the floor as the party picked up. Miggs tried not to stare at their feet too much as they danced, doing his best not to step on Peter’s toes as they moved. He flushed when Peter wrapped his arm around Miggs’ waist to press his hand against Miggs’ lower back and bring them closer together, ducking his head to press his forehead to Miggs’.

“Asshole,” Miggs grumbled, no real feeling behind it as Peter smiled at him, eyes soft and affectionate and making him blush more. Biting his lip briefly, Miggs tilted his head up a little to brush a kiss over Peter’s mouth, earning a surprised sound before Peter kissed him back, pausing in their dancing for a moment before resuming. Peter huffed in amusement when Miggs stumbled a little before catching up with the steps, muttering a curse under his breath. They spun around the floor for a few minutes more, Miggs doing his best to keep up with Peter as the agent watched the Kellers from the corner of his eye and effortlessly waltzed Miggs around in circles.

“You’re going to make me trip,” Miggs muttered out of the corner of his mouth as Peter started maneuvering him through more complicated moves, trying to subtly dance their way closer to the Kellers. Peter shot him a look and then tightened his grip on Miggs’ waist, lifting him off the ground just enough to start waltzing across the floor like he’d trained professionally.

“Peter!” Miggs gasped, clinging to Peter’s shoulders and just barely getting enough traction to brace his toes on the tops of Peter’s shoes. “Put me down!” Miggs hissed, but Peter just smirked and spun them around again. “Peter!” And then Peter dropped Miggs to his feet, grinning at his scowl, eyes going a little wide when someone bumped into Miggs from behind.

“Hey, watch—” Miggs turned to snap, but his voice broke off into a strangled noise as he came face-to-face with Ian Keller.

The differences between the Keller in his memory and the one standing in front of him then became very apparent up close; his hair was thinner and paler than Miggs remembered, skin more wrinkled and sagging around his eyes and jaw. His blue eyes were just as piercing as Miggs remembered, though, and Keller looked him up and down quickly, lips pursing in thought.

“Sorry about that,” Patricia said, beaming at them from Ian’s side as the four of them stared awkwardly at each other. “Getting a bit crowded out here, isn’t it!” She smiled proudly at the dance floor covered in couples mostly rocking back and forth like teenagers at prom, a few actually waltzing in what looked like practiced steps set to songs for their weddings, and thus a bit off-beat from the actual music.

“Yeah,” Miggs said when Peter elbowed him. “Sorry. D-didn’t mean to bump into you.”

“Don’t worry about it,” Keller said warmly, reaching out to clap Miggs on the shoulder. “You look familiar, young man, have we met before?”

“No,” Miggs said, a little too quickly. Peter shifted slightly next to him and Miggs shook himself mentally, knowing that if he blew this mission now, Peter would never forgive him. “I mean, we are here for the cruise, you might have seen me around the resort with my husband.”

“That must be it,” Keller said, snapping his fingers and pointing at Miggs. “Were you in the shops yesterday by any chance? I was in there with Patty doing inventory for the t-shirts.” They’d been nowhere near the t-shirts, but Miggs nodded anyway, earning a triumphant grin. “See, memory’s getting better every day.” He turned to beam at his wife, who smiled up at him with the same indulgent expression she’d shared with him earlier.

“I hope you are both enjoying yourselves?” she asked, glancing between them before fixing her gaze on Peter. “You’re very quiet, mister…?”

“Ortega-Orso,” Miggs cut in, doing his best to wrestle his facial muscles into a polite smile. “Peter’s mute, Mrs. Keller.”

“Oh, how rude of me,” she said, putting her hand to her mouth and looking embarrassed. Peter gave her a charming smile before shaking his head and inclining it towards her, glancing at Miggs as he did so.

“He’s pleased to meet you,” Miggs guessed and Peter nodded, offering at hand to the Kellers. Patricia hesitated for a beat and then Ian took it instead and shook it gladly, both hands cupping Peter’s palm.

“We’re pleased to have you here,” Ian said after dropping Peter’s hand. “Newlyweds, right? On your honeymoon?”

“Yeah,” Miggs said, blushing when Peter grinned and took his hand, squeezing his palm.

“Ian loves to joke we’re still on honeymoon,” Patricia said, patting her husband’s arm and chuckling. “How long have you been together?” Miggs tried not to let his panic show on his face, wondering how he was supposed to answer that.

“Uh—” he said, pausing when Peter lifted his free hand to hold up three fingers.

“Three?” Ian said, and Miggs nodded, glancing at Peter.

“Three years,” Miggs said, wondering if Peter had just picked a random number or based it off how long they’d been friends.

“Oh, lovely,” Patricia beamed before asking, “How did you meet?”

“Through work,” Miggs answered automatically, fighting not to twitch when Peter shifted his weight to lean closer to Miggs and slip his arm around his waist to mirror how the Kellers were standing. “We both teach at a college.”

“Couple of brainiacs, huh?” Ian grinned, pointing at Miggs with one hand. “You know, you really remind me of this guy I used to know aaaages ago, Bernie—hm, Bernie….drat, can’t recall his last name.” Ian frowned as Miggs kept his expression locked in a polite smile, struggling not to ask how Miggs reminded Ian of Miggs’ father, Bernie Ortega.

“That’s alright, dear, you’re doing better today than usual,” Patricia said fondly, squeezing Ian’s arm before leaning up to peck a kiss against his cheek. “I’d be  _ astonished  _ if you remembered someone’s full name from years and years ago. So tell me, Mister Ortega-Orso, are you—whoops!” Patricia stumbled a bit as someone else bumped into her, turning to apologize. “No, no, it’s our fault for standing in the middle of the dance floor!” she laughed, turning back to Miggs, expression amused.

“Perhaps we should move off the floor, in that case?” Ian asked, and Patricia nodded, the two of them linking arms and looking expectantly at Miggs and Peter. Miggs turned to his husband, who gave the Kellers a flattering smile before miming drinking something and inclining his head towards them.

“Peter says thanks, but we’re gonna hit the buffet table for something to drink,” Miggs said, jerking a thumb to the opposite side of the mezzanine where the refreshments were laid out.

The Kellers waved and then turned away, and Miggs nearly yelped when Peter tightened his grip on his waist to half pick him up and turn them around, cutting through the crowd of dancing guests for the buffet table.

“Peter, what the fuck,” Miggs gasped when Peter finally stopped, turning to discreetly look back. Miggs looked over his shoulder much less subtly, noticing the Kellers had gone back to dancing, spinning cheerful circles around their guests. Miggs turned his attention back to Peter to see the man had pulled out his notepad, scribbling a quick note before showing it to him.

**_You notice anything strange?_ **

“Well I felt like she was trying to interrogate me, but I usually feel that way when women are asking me about my relationship status,” Miggs mumbled, and Peter shot him a flat look. “Yeah, okay, serious business, damn. She was kinda prying, I think? I dunno, I’ve never had a relationship that people were interested in hearing about before.” Peter blinked at him, but Miggs just went on, “Ian seems less…there than I remember. But he, uh, he did sort of recognize me.” Peter’s eyebrows went up at that, and Miggs grimaced, reaching up to rub at the back of his neck.

“My father’s name was Bernie,” Miggs admitted. “Ian used to work with him on some stuff. Like the door traps on his office. But I don’t think he realized I was his old coworker’s son.” Peter frowned and then nodded, jotting  **_Patricia?_ ** under his previous note.

“She didn’t shake your hand, I remember,” Miggs said after a moment’s thought. “Ian did instead even though you offered it to her. Could be she’s just a germaphobe, though.” Peter hummed, tapping his pen against his chin for a moment. “You pick up anything? This is what you do, after all, why are you leaning on me for observation?” Peter flashed him a grin and then started writing on his notepad again.

**_I’m not. You think I wasn’t watching? I saw all that & more. She was interrogating you, she picked up on your uncertainty at least twice & was trying to figure out what it was about. Keller isn’t displaying the severity of Alzheimer’s we’ve been lead to believe he has, though he’s certainly more forgetful than b4. She wouldn’t touch me because I offered her my left hand, she’s the one watching the footage and taking notes._ **

“How do you get that last bit?” Miggs asked, frowning and glancing up at Peter. His cheeks darkened with a blush before he hesitantly added another note.

**_Jerked off b4 I left to get you your suit. Used my left hand._ **

Miggs blushed as well at that, swallowing down the question of if Peter had done so in the bathroom or in the bed next to Miggs.

“So it’s her handwriting in the files,” Miggs mumbled under his breath as a couple passed by to get to some of the finger food on the buffet table. Peter nodded, flipping to a new page.

**_She’s definitely involved in whatever is going on, if not the main perp. Her behavior towards Keller makes me think she may be manipulating him at least a little._ **

“So he might not even know what’s going on?” Miggs asked, glancing up to see Ian twirling Patricia under one arm before dipping her so her hair nearly brushed the floor. “Shit, Peter, I think a second heartbreak like that would kill him.” Peter hummed, watching the Kellers as well when Miggs glanced at him. 

**_We’ll look into it, and if that’s the case, break it to him gently._ **

Miggs snorted, making Peter raise an eyebrow.

“Telling him the woman who renewed his faith in love after, like, thirty or forty years is just using him is not gonna go over _gently_ in any way, Peter,” Miggs pointed out and Peter sighed, nodding and tucking his notepad away before tilting his head back towards the dance floor and offering Miggs a hand.

“Oh, no, I am not dancing any more,” Miggs said, holding up his drink defensively when Peter looked as though he might grab him again. Peter lifted an eyebrow and then tilted his head towards the dance floor, and then towards a couple dark corners where some couples were paired off, pressed too tightly together to just be dancing. Miggs blushed, staring for a second before setting his drink aside with a scowl.

“Fine, okay, whatever,” he muttered, letting Peter loop an arm around his waist and pull him back out onto the floor. Peter grinned at him and pulled him close, lacing their fingers together to guide Miggs around in a simple waltz.

It was a little easier this time, since Miggs was prepared and Peter wasn’t trying to subtly navigate them closer to the Kellers. After a minute, Miggs relaxed, forgetting to worry about stepping on Peter’s feet as they spun in slow circles around the dance floor, letting the gentle ebb and flow of the other dancers move them around the crowded mezzanine.

“This isn’t so bad,” Miggs mumbled, glancing up at the sky, which was fully dark now and scattered with countless stars. Peter hummed in agreement, and when Miggs looked away from the sky, Peter was watching him with a strange look on his face. Miggs blushed, stumbling a little until they stopped moving, coming to a halt in a corner of the mezzanine to stare at each other for a second.

“What?” Miggs asked, reaching up to touch his face self-consciously. “Do I have something on my face?” Peter blinked and then smiled, shaking his head. “Then what are you looking at me like that for?” Miggs asked, frowning. Peter paused and then shrugged, a hint of pink appearing on his cheeks before slowly leaning in and brushing a kiss against Miggs’ mouth. Miggs flushed, but tilted his head to the side and leaned in to return the kiss, wrapping both arms around Peter’s neck to hold him closer. Peter let out a soft sigh and wrapped his arms around Miggs’ waist, pressing soft kisses to Miggs’ lower lip until he whimpered. Peter growled, tightening his grip with a hint of desperation. Miggs tried not to squirm with the thought of Peter wanting him with even a fraction of the attraction he was faking for their pseudo-marriage, threading his fingers into the soft hair at the back of Peter’s neck.

Peter’s fingers rubbed against his lower back and then slid up Miggs’ spine, Peter’s arms wrapping around him to pull him close enough that he could feel Peter starting to get a little hard in his pants, rubbing hesitantly against Miggs. Miggs gasped, breaking the kiss and blushing as Peter stared at him, looking a little dazed.

“Are—” Miggs began, falling silent when the music stopped and looking around to see what was going on.

The Kellers were standing on stage with the band, smiling cheerfully at their confused guests.

“Sorry! Just letting you all know that while you’re welcome to continue enjoying the party—the band will be here until midnight—but we’re heading out now! Lots to prepare for the cruise casting off tomorrow! Remember, eight AM sharp, the boat leaves! Don’t miss it!” Patricia Keller said over the quiet murmur of the guests. Ian nodded from next to her, waving as he hopped down from the stage to help Patricia down.

“Lots to prepare for,” Miggs mumbled, glancing up at Peter, who was frowning at the Kellers as they made their way through the mezzanine, disappearing down the hall to the staff area. Peter turned to look at him and nodded, tilting his head towards the hotel.

“Us, too, then?” Miggs asked wryly, and Peter smirked, nodding as they disentangled themselves to start walking back to the elevator along with a few other couples that were planning to turn in early.

Miggs tried not to dwell on how Peter had looked when they’d been kissing on the elevator ride back to their room, but the soft warmth that he’d seen in Peter’s eyes failed to leave his mind no matter how hard he tried to banish it. 


	9. Chapter 9

The alarm clock went off at six-thirty, and Miggs flung out an arm to start slamming his fist against the top in an effort to turn it off. He had no success until Peter rolled over, sprawling over Miggs’ back to reach the clock and turn it off with a switch on the side.

“I love you,” Miggs mumbled into his pillow, a bit of him glad Peter hadn’t put his hearing aids in yet. Peter just patted his hip, leaning down to press a few warm, sleepy kisses to Miggs' neck. Miggs hummed and arched under the attention, stretching a little as Peter kept kissing at his skin, mouth pressing to the top of his spine under where his curls brushed his skin.

“Oohh, don’t stop,” Miggs groaned, goosebumps running over his skin as he arched back into Peter when the man paused in his kissing. Peter let out a soft huff of laughter and then rolled away, leaving Miggs moaning in disappointment.

“Come back and touch me, you bastard,” Miggs grunted, squirming until he managed to roll onto his other side, watching Peter put his hearing aid case away. Peter shot him a grin, apparently having heard him now and turned to crawl onto the bed over Miggs. Miggs blushed when Peter leaned down to kiss him, secretly (and guiltily) hoping that there would be cameras on the ship, too, so that Peter would keep touching him like this.

Peter ran his hand up Miggs’ chest to rub a thumb against one of his nipples, making him gasp and arch. Peter growled against Miggs’ mouth and then repeated the brush of his fingers over Miggs’ chest, making him whimper.

“Are we—um, are we faking it again?” Miggs whispered, breaking the kiss to pant for breath. Peter paused, glancing at the clock and looking a little conflicted before giving a sharp nod and grabbing the blanket to yank the sheets up over them. Miggs trembled as Peter rolled him onto his side and spooned up behind him, reaching down to grab Miggs’ ass and fake fingering him open. Miggs shuddered and clutched the edge of the blanket as he arched his back, pressing his ass back against Peter’s crotch and gasping at the erection that prodded him in response.

“P-Peter—” Miggs stammered, but Peter just let out an apologetic sound and moved his hips back a little, squeezing Miggs’ hip and ass as he buried his face in Miggs’ throat to start kissing and biting at the skin there. “Oh—oooohh,  _ please, _ ” Miggs moaned, turning his head to give Peter more access, his hips moving restlessly as Peter started sucking eagerly at the crook of his shoulder, definitely leaving a big bruise.

Miggs gasped when Peter reached past him to drag open the drawer to the side table and pull out of a bottle of lube, pushing it down between them for a minute without opening it before tossing it back into the drawer. Miggs whimpered when Peter tugged him closer to start rutting against his ass through their underwear, cock sliding hot and slow against Miggs’ crack as he pretended to thrust into him.

“God,” Miggs choked, biting the edge of the blanket to keep himself from begging Peter to fuck him for real, to touch him and kiss him and  _ really  _ want him, not just fake it until hormones and biology gave him an erection for a man Peter only saw as a friend.

Peter groaned and wrapped one arm around Miggs’ chest to hold him close, the other grabbing his hip to hold him steady as he bucked against him, breath coming fast and hot against Miggs’ throat. Miggs whimpered and whined around the fabric in his mouth, squeezing his eyes shut as he fought not to touch his throbbing cock.

Miggs gasped when Peter reached up to tug the blanket out of his mouth and cup his jaw, tilting his head a little so that whenever Miggs made a sound he couldn’t muffle it.

“Oh, oh God! Fuck, God, s-sorry, _nngh_ , God!” Miggs panted, trembling when Peter moaned and rutted against him more desperately, a hint of helplessness in his thrusts.

Miggs cried out when he felt Peter’s dick slip through the part in the front of his boxers, rubbing bare up against the back of his thigh and against his ass. Peter gasped, hips stuttering as his cock nudged into the crux of Miggs’ thighs, letting out a deep moan when Miggs lifted his leg just enough to let Peter’s cock push between them.

“Oh, fuck,” Miggs gasped, shaking with desire as Peter started desperately fucking the tight press of his thighs, precome dripping against his skin and making it slick and hot. “Oh, Christ, Peter, fuck,  _ Peter, _ ” Miggs squirmed, rubbing back against Peter and desperate to touch his own cock but knowing that would make this more  _ real,  _ Peter’s dick between his legs was just an accident, just—

“Oh!” Miggs cried out when Peter’s cock pressed hard against the fork of his legs as he pushed through, rubbing against his perineum and sac through his underwear. “Oh, God, fuck, Peter, I’m—I’m gonna—” He’d never come untouched like this before, he’d usually at  _ least  _ had a vibrator or a couple strokes to his cock, but Peter was just rutting against him and he could definitely feel orgasm coiling in his stomach, desire pulsing hot and liquid through his gut. Peter let out a desperate noise and reached around to grab Miggs’ cock through his underwear, squeezing at the base.

Miggs let out a strangled sound and then choked, “That’s not  _ helping  _ me not to come, Peter—God!” Miggs reached down and wrapped his hand around Peter’s fingers, squeezing tighter as he tried not to come, thinking of the least sexy things he could with Peter pumping his cock between Miggs’ legs and kissing at his throat. It barely helped, he was teetering right on the edge of orgasm and then—

Peter let out a panicked sound and then something hot and  _ wet  _ was pulsing against the crotch of Miggs’ underwear, soaking through the cotton and making him arch in surprise.

“Did you just—oh,  _ Peter! _ ” Miggs cried out, trembling helplessly as he came in his underwear against Peter’s hand, gasping when Peter yanked his hand away and scrambled back from him. Miggs barely felt the instant hurt at that as he spilled thickly into his briefs, breath hitching and catching.

After a second, Miggs’ brain came back online, and he realized that he and Peter had just both come. Which meant that they just had sex. Which, really, they'd sorta been doing all along, this just confirmed it.

Which meant that an annulment was out of the picture.

“Um,” Miggs said, staring at the wall and not daring to roll over and look at Peter. “Oops?”

A long stretch of silence met that, and then Peter snorted, the sound dissolving into quiet laughter after a second. Miggs hesitantly peeked over his shoulder at Peter at the sound, staring when he determined that Peter wasn’t looking at him. Instead, Peter was kneeling on the bed, one hand over his face and the other resting on his thigh, limp cock hanging out the front of his boxers, a bit of come clinging to the tip. Miggs licked his lips automatically before lifting his gaze to Peter’s face and giving him an awkward look when the man peeked between his fingers at him.

“So, uh, what does that mean,” Miggs asked, and Peter looked a little startled before he clarified, “For the mission, like, the fake marriage. It’s, uh, been consummated, right?” Peter grimaced and nodded, quickly tucking his cock back into his underwear and leaning over to grab his notepad.

Miggs glanced at the time as Peter jotted a note, grimacing as he realized it was almost seven, and now they  _ definitely  _ had to shower before heading for the dock. Miggs slipped out of bed as Peter held up the note, looking up to read it.

**_Sorry. Consummation means divorce._ ** ~~**_I didn’t mean_** **_shouldn’t have_**~~ **_Sorry._ **

“You’re not the only one who came,” Miggs said after a second gesturing at his wet underwear and come running down his thighs with a grimace. Peter stared for a minute, notepad lowering as his eyes dragged over the darkened fabric and shiny trails running along Miggs’ skin. Miggs flushed and then turned away to dig through his bag for fresh clothes. “We need to shower and get packed for the boat,” he said, hesitating for a minute before just stripping off the wet briefs. He  _ really  _ hoped the boat had a laundry facility; he was almost completely out of underwear, and it had only been a few days. Peter made a sound of agreement after a second, and Miggs looked up from his bag to see Peter staring at his crotch, where his cock was just starting to get more than half-soft. A blush stained Peter’s cheeks as Miggs caught him, and then he was quickly exiting the bed and grabbing his own clothes to head into the bathroom.

Frowning curiously, Miggs followed him, leaving the light off and not bothering to hide his nakedness as Peter turned around to set his things on the counter by the mirror, blushing again when he saw Miggs.

Awkwardly setting his things by Peter’s, Miggs took a deep breath and then said, “Hey, Peter. It’s—it’s just sex. It’s not—look, after the mission, it’s not gonna…change our friendship, or anything. We’ll still be friends. Desperate times, and all that.” He gave Peter a weak smile, trying to reassure the man that he wasn’t going to develop  _ feelings  _ for him, despite the fact that it was the exact opposite and had been since long before they got married. He didn’t want Peter to drop him like a hot potato after the mission because he thought Miggs was in love with him, even if he was right. Miggs could control himself. He wouldn’t let his stupid heart get in the way of their friendship just because he wanted what he couldn’t have.

Peter stared at him for a long minute, mouth pressing into a flat line before he looked away to stare at his laundry bundled up on the counter, giving a sharp nod and then stepping into the shower to turn it on.

Trying not to feel sick with disappointment, guilt, and love, Miggs followed suit. 


	10. Chapter 10

A long line lead from the cruise ship anchored against the dock to nearly the mezzanine, and Miggs groaned before throwing his bags at Peter.

“I’m going to get us something to fucking eat if we’re going to be line for  _ hours, _ ” Miggs grumbled, wondering how the hell the Kellers planned to leave at eight AM sharp if most of their guests were still on the dock at seven forty.

He went and got something fried and smothered in cheese for himself, grabbing a travel bowl of sliced fruit for Peter before returning to the line, finding that it had moved a reasonable amount in the time he’d been gone.

“Here.” Miggs pushed the fruit at Peter, who set down one of the bags and slung the rest over his shoulder and in the crook of his elbow to take it from him with a grateful smile. Miggs flushed when Peter leaned in to kiss him, sweet and brief, before peeling open the plastic lid to start popping bits of fruit into his mouth.

The line moved along as they ate, Miggs picking up the spare bag to carry as they made their way up to the staircase from the dock to the ship.

“Names?” the woman standing by the bottom of the stairs asked them, looking surprisingly chipper for the early hour and how many people she was having to sort onto the ship by herself.

“Peter and Miggs Ortega-Orso,” Miggs grunted, crushing the wrapper for his breakfast and tucking it into a pocket on the side of his bag to throw away later.

“Honeymoon package, deluxe suite,” she replied, tapping her fingers against a tablet in her hand. “You’re on floor two, cabin nine. Enjoy the cruise!” She smiled cheerily, handing Peter an old-fashioned key with a label attached from a rack of similar keys behind her and then waving them up the steps, switching her attention to the couple behind them.

The staircase went on just long enough to make Miggs start to wheeze and complain about his burning calves before opening up onto the deck of the cruise ship. They halted and stared for a second, taking in the sweeping pale-wood and silver-trimmed decor, arched doorways leading into the ship’s staircases to lower levels, a map on the wall directly across from them. Miggs crossed to it and started scanning it, taking in the various amenities the cruise offered, where the residential spaces were, and noting the unlabeled floors in various areas of the ship.

“Oh, thank God,” Miggs mumbled, finger tracing along the map to a laundry facility, which had a note attached reading  _ Open 24hrs!  _ “I was worried I was going to end up going commando half the trip, or washing them in the sink.” Peter smirked next to him, reaching down to grab Miggs’ ass and squeeze briefly before letting go when Miggs jumped.

“What do you think is here?” Miggs asked, pointing at the unlabeled areas of the ship. Peter hummed and shrugged, glancing back towards the stairs where the next couple after them was cresting the steps, panting and groaning more than Miggs had been.

“Looks like our cabin’s down this way,” Miggs said, locating floor two, cabin nine. Miggs shrugged one bag up onto his shoulder so his hand was free to lace together with Peter’s, pulling him to the staircase on the left, helpfully labeled “A.”

The spiral staircase lead down through multiple levels of the ship, some of them closed off by heavy-looking doors, most open archways leading to long, carpeted hallways. 

Floor two was, predictably, two flights of stairs down from the main deck, and the hall that branched off it was decorated in the same colors as the hotel on shore.

Peter dropped Miggs’ hand to pull out the key the woman on the dock had given him, sliding it into place in the door and twisting it until something clicked.

“You’d think they’d just have keycards like the hotel,” Miggs said as Peter pushed the door open. Peter grunted in agreement as he tucked the key away again, leading Miggs inside.

The cabin was a lot narrower than the hotel room, but made up for it in length, going on for a good ten yards from door to balcony. There was a thin couch against one wall facing a wall-mounted flatscreen TV, and a slim door just past it set into the paneling. Beyond that, the suite opened up into a space about the same size as Miggs’ bedroom back home, a large bed covered in pillows and a fluffy comforter dominating the space. The slim door lead to a small but sleek bathroom, which only had a standing shower, and a coffee pot with single-pod inserts on the counter next to double sinks. Miggs dropped everything he was carrying by the bathroom door to start the coffee pot running, and Peter huffed a laugh, stepping over Miggs’ bags to set his own down by the bed before methodically unpacking into a short set of drawers to one side of it built into the wall.

Sipping coffee from a styrofoam cup and wishing they’d supplied more sugar, Miggs kicked his shoes off by the couch and waited for Peter to join him.

When Peter sat next to him, he pulled out his notepad and started jotting a note while Miggs grabbed the remote off the low shelves under the flatscreen to turn on the TV. It immediately began playing the ship’s advertisement channel, a woman’s voiceover crooning about relaxing massage and acupuncture packages available in the ship’s full-service spa. Peter tapped Miggs' knee to get his attention, holding up his notepad.

**_Will look into finding Kellers’ offices tonight, find out if they monitor the bedrooms here as well. Most likely yes, so we’ll continue as we have been, if that’s OK._ **

Miggs nodded after reading the note, setting his empty coffee cup aside to tuck his feet underneath him and lean into Peter’s side. Peter lifted an arm automatically and pulled Miggs closer, thumb rubbing against his shoulder absently.

Miggs shut his eyes and leaned into the attention, wrapping one arm around Peter’s middle to curl closer to him.

* * *

 

Miggs jerked awake when the TV droned out a forcibly-cheerful jingle, displaying the resort’s logo on the screen as Patricia Keller’s voice came through the speakers.

“Attention, guests! We are casting off in five minutes, please do not be alarmed by any sounds coming from the lower levels, it’s just the engines doing their work! You may also feel some slight disturbances as the ship gets up to speed and moves out of the bay,” Mrs. Keller sing-songed through the TV, and Miggs stared at it blankly, wondering if it was a recording or a live broadcast. “Remember to check out the informational pamphlets provided in your rooms for entertainment and facilities on the ship! We have free massage and acupuncture packages every night this week, so be sure to stop by the ship’s full-service spa for some special treatment! Ta!”

Miggs groaned and stretched, wondering how long he’d fallen asleep for. He realized after a second that he was still curled up to Peter’s side, who was awake and using one hand to read through one of the pamphlets that had been spread out on the shelves where Miggs had found the TV remote. His other arm was wrapped around Miggs, and when he moved, Peter turned to look at him, a faint flush appearing on his cheeks when Miggs bit his lip.

“How long was I out for?” Miggs asked in a mumble, and Peter turned his wrist to show Miggs his watch. It was just after eight, so maybe fifteen minutes or so. “Oh. Felt like longer.” Peter shrugged, jostling Miggs against his shoulder. Miggs started when the entire room shuddered just slightly, a low rumble sounding before fading away.

“So much for casting off at eight AM sharp,” Miggs said and Peter huffed, tossing the pamphlet back onto the shelves to grab his notepad off the couch and write on it.

**_U want to explore the ship or stay here?_ **

“Stay here?” Miggs asked in confusion, looking up at Peter, whose cheeks darkened as he glanced at the bed. “Oh.  _ Oh. _ Um. I’m, uh, s-sure, we can check out the ship, if you want to.” Miggs blushed deeply when Peter didn’t look at him, flipping his notepad shut and nodding before Miggs sat up so Peter could stand.

Miggs tried not to feel too awkward as he followed Peter out of the cabin, fingers lacing together automatically as they started back up the stairs, passing other couples exploring the ship or heading for their cabins.

The main deck was by far the busiest, people wandering along the railing and watching the island disappear into the distance as the ship made its way out to sea. There were staircases down into the bowels of the ship every few dozen feet so none of them would get overcrowded by people coming and going through the various levels, and a short ways down from where they’d originally boarded was a large atrium with sweeping desks manned by smiling people in pale gray tops with the resort’s logo on the left breast. The atrium was a little crowded, people wandering through looking for directions and maps and information, some needing help finding their rooms or specific amenities. While passing through, Peter snagged a map of the ship from one of the racks that held hundreds of pamphlets with information on the ship and activities to be had. A quick glance at the rack revealed a movie theater, live entertainment, a few restaurants and bars, pools, a mini golf course, and ten pamphlets dedicated to the spa alone.

“They’re really trying to sell that spa package, huh,” Miggs commented absently as Peter unfolded the map and looked it over, turning his head to frown at Miggs and then nod slowly, a thoughtful look on his face before he turned back to the map.

“Oh, look they have movie nights,” Miggs said, pointing at the bottom corner of the map as he peeked over Peter’s shoulder, reading over the event list. “And water slides! I didn’t think there’d be water slides on a ship in the middle of the ocean.” Peter turned to grin at him, looking a bit like he was laughing at Miggs. Miggs blushed and pulled back, crossing his arms over his chest to scowl. “I’ve never been on a cruise before, Peter, I didn’t even have a chance to Google what it’d be like.” Peter rolled his eyes but folded up the map to tuck it away, grabbing Miggs’ elbow to tug him in closer and nuzzle at his cheek until Miggs stopped pouting and turned his head to kiss Peter’s mouth.

“Asshole,” Miggs mumbled, the corner of his mouth twitching up when Peter smirked at him.

They left the atrium and wandered further along the deck, noting the closest restaurant to their cabin on the map, and the closest bar. There was an arcade, gym, running track, full-scale theater, cinema, nightclub, sport court, gym, rock climbing wall, observatory, shopping center, and, of course, the spa.

“This is ridiculous,” Miggs mumbled, peering at the map. “I understand they have to provide a week of entertainment, but this place is  _ ridiculous. _ Who golfs on a cruise?”

**_It’s mini golf,_ ** Peter pointed out, tapping his pen against his chin as Miggs read the note, the two of them sitting at the  _ Rose Thorn Bar _ near the pool, sitting down for the first time since they’d started exploring the ship hours ago.

“I don’t care, it’s a cruise ship, why would you want to  _ golf, _ ” Miggs scoffed, flipping the map over to find advertisements for the various amenities, the spa’s massage and acupuncture packages taking up nearly a quarter of the space by itself. “And they  _ really  _ want to sell that spa package, Jesus.” Peter nodded, mouth tilting into a bit of a frown.

**_I’m starting to think what’s going on may be related to the spa since they’re pushing that harder than anything else. Easiest place to hide an inator, among all the equipment & such there._ **

“I’ve never been to a spa,” Miggs admitted, and Peter gave him a vaguely horrified look when he went on, “Never really had a massage, either. I usually, uh, get too impatient.” Peter blinked and then smirked, rolling his eyes before jotting down a note.

**_Remind me to give you one before we leave, if not treat u to a real one from the spa, provided there’s no inator issues going on in there._ **

Miggs hummed, far more tempted by the idea of Peter touching him than a stranger, regardless of level of training in the art of massage.

Peter added another note to the page, pushing it at Miggs before taking a sip of the fruity, vaguely-alcoholic drink they’d ordered.

**_I’m thinking dinner, then back to the cabin for some sleep so we can check out the offices tonight. Sound good?_ **

Miggs bit his lip against a pleased smile, glad Peter was including him in the plan without Miggs having to fight him for it this time.

“Yeah, sounds great,” Miggs said, grinning when Peter gave him an approving look before leaning in to kiss him, soft and slow until he let out a breathless whimper.

Peter was a little flushed when they pulled apart, and he cleared his throat as he gathered up his notepad and the map to tuck them into his pockets, taking Miggs’ hand when they slipped off their stools to head to one of the restaurants for dinner. Miggs tried not to let his heart feel too light when Peter rubbed his thumb over the back of his knuckles as they walked, unconsciously affectionate and creating a bit of hope that was starting to prove hard for Miggs to stifle.


	11. Chapter 11

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This is mostly pwp but the plot returns next week, I promise!

“I can’t breathe,” Miggs groaned, leaning against Peter’s arm as he unlocked their cabin door, one hand against his full stomach. “The buffet was a bad idea. Did you know I could eat that much?” Peter laughed as he pushed the door open and shook his head, gesturing for Miggs to go ahead. Miggs groaned and slouched into the cabin, falling onto the first flat surface he came across, that of the narrow couch. “I didn’t either.” Peter laughed again as he shut the door behind them, tossing the key and his phone onto the shelves under the flatscreen to reach down and pet at Miggs’ spine before tilting his head towards the bed in invitation. Miggs let out a pathetic moan and rolled onto his side, reaching out to grab Peter’s pant leg for no particular reason other than to just keep him close.

“I don’t think I could walk over there even if I wanted to,” Miggs said, making Peter roll his eyes. “No, really, I’m too full. I couldn’t move another step.” The corner of Peter’s mouth twitched, betraying his amusement and Miggs grinned up at him, earning a quick smile in return.

“You’d have to carry me or something,” Miggs joked, letting go of Peter’s pant leg with a sigh so he could sit up. He yelped in surprise when Peter paused and then grabbed him, slipping one arm under Miggs’ knees and the other behind his back to lift him off the couch.

“Peter!” Miggs gasped, clinging to his husband’s shoulders and trying not to flail so much that Peter would drop him. “What are you doing?” Peter huffed in amusement and turned with Miggs in his arms to walk briskly to the side of the bed, setting Miggs down on the mattress before giving him a smug grin.

“You…actually fucking carried me, oh my God,” Miggs said, staring and struggling not to show how attractive he found it that Peter could scoop him up like Miggs didn't weigh a thing.

Peter smirked and nodded, stepping back to start toeing off his shoes and slipping out of his clothes as he walked around to the other side of the bed. Miggs flushed and swung his legs off the bed to kick off his own shoes and socks before squirming out of his pants, leaving him in his t-shirt and underwear as Peter climbed into the bed in just his boxers.

It was only about seven in the evening, and despite the early start to the day, Miggs didn’t really feel tired, settling into bed with Peter laying half naked next to him.

“So do you think they’ve got cameras around the ship, too?” Miggs asked, rolling on his side to face Peter and propping his head on his hand to look at him. Peter turned to face him, left arm tucked up behind his head and the other coming up to make like he was knocking against an invisible door to say _yes._ Miggs hummed thoughtfully, and Peter gave him an odd look before Miggs moved the arm under his head to down by his side so he could curl up against Peter, resting his head on Peter’s chest. Peter let out a surprised sound and then a pleased one, the arm behind his head coming down to wrap around Miggs’ shoulders and hold him in place.

“How long d’you wanna sleep for before we go playing secret agents?” Miggs asked, heart skipping a little in his chest as he wrapped an arm around Peter’s middle and nuzzled against his chest and shoulder. Peter held up all five fingers of his right hand twice and then two more, and Miggs took a moment to guess at the meaning.

“Until midnight?” he ventured, and Peter nodded, a small smile curling at the corners of his mouth when Miggs looked up. “Okay.” Miggs laid his head back down on Peter’s chest, fingers playing lightly over Peter’s skin.

Miggs paused when Peter let out a soft sound as his fingers wandered down along Peter’s stomach, and after a second Miggs brushed his palm along the waistline of Peter’s boxers, heart starting to beat faster when Peter shifted slightly, holding Miggs tighter.  Biting his lip, Miggs dragged his fingers along Peter’s waist, following the line of his underwear and then back, nails scratching lightly through Peter’s body hair until he let out a soft sound, hips lifting just a little towards Miggs’ hand.

Miggs tried to bite back a smirk, shifting his head on Peter’s chest so he could look down the line of his body to where Peter’s boxers were beginning to tent with an erection. A thrill went through Miggs’ stomach at the thought that he was turning Peter on with just this little touch, wondering how much more he could do.

Miggs kept playing with the edge of Peter’s underwear with one hand, turning his head a little to brush his mouth against Peter’s skin, watching Peter’s cock thicken noticeably in his underwear as he did. Miggs squirmed a little, resisting the urge to rub his own quickly-growing erection against the bed, or Peter’s hip. Miggs brushed another kiss against Peter’s chest, more obvious in what he was doing, swallowing a soft moan when Peter’s breath caught.

“Is this okay?” Miggs mumbled against Peter’s skin, pressing a couple of kisses between words, glancing up to see Peter nodding and biting his lip, the hand on Miggs’ shoulder tightening and relaxing marginally every few seconds. “What about this?” Miggs murmured, slipping one of his fingers under the waistband of Peter’s underwear, not touching his cock, just tracing over the skin underneath his boxers, scratching lightly through his hair. Peter whimpered quietly and nodded again, shifting restlessly next to Miggs like he wanted to move but was hesitant to.

“More?” Miggs asked, voice turning a little raspy with nerves, and Peter moaned, dropping his head back against the pillow before nodding, lifting his hips with a hint of desperation. Miggs shivered and slowly slipped his hand into Peter’s underwear, whimpering as he wrapped his fingers around Peter’s cock. Peter let out a breathless whine and bucked up into his hand, fucking the loose circle of Miggs’ fingers before he even started stroking him.

“Oh,” Miggs gasped, watching him and then biting his lip before shifting closer, lifting one leg to slot against Peter’s side, hard cock pressing against Peter’s hip through his underwear. Peter moaned and reached over to grab Miggs with both hands, pulling at him until Miggs let go of Peter’s cock to slide on top of him instead. Miggs blushed and hid his face against Peter’s chest briefly as his cock pressed into Peter’s lower stomach. Peter let out a soft sound, half desire, half worry, lifting his hips to hesitantly thrust against Miggs’ ass, cock throbbing when Miggs pushed down against him automatically.

“Fuck,” Miggs hissed, arching his back and lifting his head a little as Peter put both hands on his hips and braced his feet, spreading his legs slightly to start rubbing up against Miggs. He moaned as he tightened his knees around Peter’s hips, pushing back against Peter’s thrusts and rutting against Peter’s stomach.

“Ooh, please,” Miggs groaned, lifting his head to look at Peter and blushing at the raw desire on his flushed face. “Um, off? Can we—can we take—off? Please?” Miggs reached down to touch the waistband of Peter’s underwear, trying to come up with a suitable excuse to feel Peter’s naked skin on his. “I’m—I’m starting to chafe, please—” Peter nodded quickly, grabbing the hem of Miggs’ shirt and dragging it off over his head before reaching down to start pushing at his briefs, both of them kicking and squirming as they tried to keep rutting against each other while also getting completely naked.

After a minute Miggs found himself sprawled on his side with Peter facing him and laying very close, one arm around Miggs and the other down between them, hesitating before carefully wrapping around Miggs’ cock.

“Oh, God,” Miggs muttered, clutching at Peter’s hip and shoulder, tangling their legs together as he shifted his hips closer to Peter’s. “Um, if—if you want—” Miggs reached down with one hand to wrap his fingers around Peter’s dick, bringing them together as Peter growled and quickly adjusted his grip to take both of them in hand, stroking slowly and rolling his hips. Miggs whimpered and started trying to keep a rhythm with Peter, both of them breathing heavily and thrusting into the loose circle of their hands.

“F-fuck, fuck, oh God,” Miggs panted, throwing one leg over Peter’s hip and trying to get closer, get more friction, get off. Peter moaned and leaned in to start kissing and biting at Miggs’ throat, nibbling up and along his jaw to bite his ear. Miggs turned his head and caught Peter’s mouth in a kiss, wet and open and definitely not just for show, there was too much heat for a fake kiss. Miggs arched and clutched at Peter’s shoulder and upper arm, shuddering as Peter laced their fingers together and stroked them, hips rolling and grinding together, precome starting to slick the loose circle of their tangled fingers.

Miggs groaned and wrapped his leg around Peter, hooking his heel behind Peter’s knee, using him as leverage to thrust faster into Peter’s hand, against his cock, squeezing a bit around them and pulling a moan from Peter’s mouth. Miggs tilted his head with a whimper and Peter quickly leaned in to start kissing him again, hips working a bit faster.

When Peter broke the kiss to breathe, tiny moans and whimpers spilling from them both, Miggs buried his face in Peter’s throat, desire pulsing through him as Peter touched him. The faint thought that this wasn’t faking it, this wasn’t Peter accidentally coming on him while faking it, this was them having _sex,_ real actual sex that Miggs was having a hard time justifying beyond _wanting_ to have sex with Peter.

“Hnngh, God, I’m—fuck, _Peter_ ,” Miggs gasped when Peter twisted his hand around them, tightening at the head and then sliding down the length of them. Peter moaned and started stroking them a little faster, kissing at Miggs’ throat and jaw, teeth and tongue dragging against his skin. Miggs whimpered and curled his leg around Peter tighter, wanting more. Peter shuddered, thrusts growing a little jerky, and the thought that Peter was getting close to coming, losing control, that he might be just as desperate made Miggs curl tighter to Peter until they were pressed too close to easily stroke, making Peter whimper.

“God, fuck, please—” Miggs panted, pulling his hand free from between them to grab Peter’s hip, rocking into him and squirming until Peter rolled onto his back. Miggs followed him, sliding on top of Peter and grinding against him desperately, gasping and moaning as he clung to Peter’s shoulders. Peter reached up and grabbed Miggs’ hips, guiding him into a quicker, steadier rhythm as Miggs hid his face against Peter’s throat, a little embarrassed by how he was blatantly taking advantage of his friend.

“S-so—sorry, _mmphh_ , God, sorry, I-I-I need—oh!” Miggs stammered, gasping when Peter growled and slid his hand between them to rub Miggs’ cock before grabbing his own and guiding it back to start thrusting up against Miggs’ ass, glancing along his cleft and making him cry out.

“P-Peter—I’m—I’m—” Miggs could feel tension drawing tight in his body, almost to the breaking point, close enough that he was trembling, thrusts jerking and dragging along Peter’s body. Peter moaned and turned his head to kiss at Miggs’ hair and temple, breath hot and stirring Miggs’ curls.

Miggs curled tight to Peter’s body, squeezing his knees around Peter’s hips and rutting against Peter’s stomach, feeling Peter’s hand tighten around his hip. Whimpering, Miggs tilted his head to start kissing and biting at Peter’s throat, leaving a brilliant bruise up by the hinge of his jaw, sucking until Peter let out a strangled sound of pleasure. A thrill ran through Miggs at the noise, tingling along his spine and in the pit of his stomach, and then he cried out in surprise as he started to come against Peter’s stomach.

Peter’s breath caught and his grip tightened on Miggs’ hips, thrusting up against Miggs’ ass frantically, bracing his feet and making the bed creak as Miggs sprawled bonelessly over Peter’s chest. Miggs arched his back a little and Peter moaned, sliding his hand around Miggs’ hip to cup his ass, guiding his dick along Miggs’ crack, rubbing against his hole until Miggs whimpered and pushed back against the pressure. Peter sucked in a sharp breath and then tensed, and Miggs let out a soft sound of surprise as Peter started coming, spilling wet and hot against his skin.

Breathing hard, Peter slowly relaxed until they were both collapsed in a tangled mess on the bed, comforter bunched and wrinkled under them.

After a minute Miggs shifted slightly, the come smeared over his skin and dripping along his ass cooling rapidly and sure to glue them together soon if they didn’t move.

“We need a shower,” Miggs mumbled, and Peter just nodded, looking a little breathless when Miggs lifted his head to look at him. “Um.” Peter blinked, a faint blush appearing on his face as he lifted an eyebrow. “So, uh, um.” Miggs scrambled for something to say that wasn’t _can we keep having sex now that we have to get divorced no matter what_.

“Where do you think Keller’s office is?” he finally settled on weakly, fighting the urge to hide when Peter gave him a puzzled look before shrugging. He slowly sat up, Miggs sliding off to fall to the side as he did. Miggs stared as Peter wiped a hand through the mess Miggs had made on his stomach, letting out a soft sound when Peter licked his palm and then went still, glancing at Miggs and blushing.

“Shower?” Miggs mumbled, and Peter nodded, quickly sliding out of the bed and pushing open the door to the bathroom, stepping inside to get the water running as Miggs rolled over to watch and then climb out of bed himself.

Peter apparently only wanted a rinse, already out of the shower when Miggs walked into the bathroom, hair dry but his body wiped clean of come.

“Oh, uh, okay,” Miggs said when Peter shuffled to the side and gestured for Miggs to get in the shower, turning away when Miggs walked past him.

Miggs stepped under the just-warming spray, trying not to wonder if Peter was avoiding him now, washing his skin clean of sweat and spunk. Glancing through the frosted shower door, Miggs watched Peter brush his teeth and wash his face in the sink before exiting the bathroom. Dunking his head under the water, Miggs reminded himself firmly that they were on a mission for O.W.C.A., he was only here because Peter _trusted_ him, and using this whole mess to take advantage of Peter and make him feel awkward was a breach of that trust.

“Stupid, stupid, stupid,” Miggs mumbled under his breath, knocking his head against the shower wall gently. He had to stop pretending that Peter might be enjoying this forced intimacy as much as Miggs was; he needed to remember that their whole “marriage” was just so Peter could do his hero thing and find out what the Kellers were up to. That was it, there was no other reason Peter would touch him or kiss him, it was just for the mission.

Letting out a deep breath and trying to wrestle his mutinous emotions under control, Miggs finished cleaning up and then shut off the shower to step out, snagging a towel from the narrow wire rack above the toilet to dry off and wrap around his waist.

Peter was lying on the bed, boxers back around his waist as he held his phone over his face and tapped at it with his thumbs, a faint frown around the corners of his mouth. Miggs stared for a second before shaking himself and walking to the drawers where they’d unpacked their bags for the trip, pulling on briefs and an undershirt before crawling onto the bed and laying down. After dinner, sex, and a warm shower, he was finally starting to feel tired enough to sleep, the early morning and long day catching up with him.

“Make sure you set an alarm,” Miggs said absently as he kicked and slid his way under the comforter. Peter hummed and Miggs pulled the blanket tight around his neck and face in an effort to stave off the desire to roll over and curl up close to Peter. He really needed to get this rampaging desire for his friend under control, or the divorce wouldn’t be the end of just their marriage.


	12. Chapter 12

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> technically it's tuesday here so \o/ chapter!

The alarm Peter set was just his phone, which started vibrating insistently at midnight, waking Peter and definitely not Miggs, who groaned and pulled a pillow over his head when Peter started shaking him.

“Pe’r, no _ , unos min’tos más _ ,” Miggs slurred, earning nothing but more insistent shaking. Miggs squirmed when Peter slid his hand from Miggs’ shoulder to his hip, making him roll over and pulling the pillow off his face. “Peter,” Miggs complained, squinting through one eye as Peter let out an amused hum and leaned down to start nuzzling at Miggs, beard tickling his throat and face. Miggs yelped and hunched his shoulders towards his ears, trying to get away as Peter started laughing, wrapping an arm around Miggs’ waist to hold him in place.

“No, no, stop, I’m awake, okay, I’m awake!” Miggs gasped, pushing at Peter and digging his fingers into Peter’s sides in an attempt to tickle back and defend himself. Peter just huffed, blowing air against Miggs’ throat before pulling back with a smirk.

“I hate you,” Miggs groaned, reaching up to rub his hands over his face. “And I hate this mission and my sleep schedule is going to be  _ wrecked  _ when we get back, and it’s all your fault.” Peter laughed and leaned over to press a soft kiss to Miggs’ mouth. Miggs kissed back after a brief second of pouting, a smirk spreading over Peter’s lips when Miggs pushed himself up onto one elbow to keep kissing Peter when he tried to pull back.

“Shut up,” Miggs grumbled when he finally broke away, and Peter’s smirk just got bigger, curling the corners of his mouth in a way that had Miggs pulling his knees towards his chest to hide his cock starting to take interest in Peter being close.

Peter didn’t notice, sliding out of bed and tugging a drawer open to gather things so he could get dressed and walking to the bathroom to do so. Slacks and a white-button up went on over his boxers, a black bow tie and suit jacket joining the ensemble as Miggs watched. Miggs looked away when Peter walked to his bag and pulled a pair of goggles out of it, leaving his glasses on the nightstand. Walking to the TV, Peter settled the goggles over his eyes and tightened the strap behind his head so they’d stay in place.

Miggs climbed out of bed and pulled open his own drawer to tug on dark cargo pants and a soft black turtleneck, gloves and a black beanie going over his hands and hair. He hadn’t brought his mask or coat, since he was here as an assistant to O.W.C.A., and parading around in clearly villain attire would have been ill-advised.

Miggs looked up as he was doing up the laces to his shoes, the pit of his stomach starting to gather something cold and heavy at the sight of Peter pushing all his hair back from his forehead, a black fedora in his other hand coming to rest on his head with a slight tug to the brim.

“Panda,” Miggs said when Peter turned to look at him, and a slight downturn to the corner of Peter’s mouth was Miggs’ only hint that Peter had heard him at all. “Ready to go?” Peter nodded, and Miggs stood up, grabbing his phone and a small black bag from his duffel. While Peter might have a fancy secret-agency issued hat that could hold any number of tools, Miggs had to tote his around like a normal person. Most normal people didn’t carry around the sort of equipment Professor Mystery did though, which sort of rendered his point moot.

Peter beckoned for Miggs to follow him, leading him to the TV and pushing up his sleeve to show his watch. Peter twisted the face around clockwise twice and then lifted it off on a hinge, showing miniature circuitry that no watch by rights should contain. From the intricate insides, Peter tugged a thin wire wrapped around the edge, which extended far enough for him to plug it into one of the ports on the side of the TV.

“Can you get into their system from here?” Miggs asked, frowning. Peter nodded, gesturing to his watch after he closed the face again and spun it counter-clockwise once. Miggs leaned in, watching as Peter slid his fingertip over the screen, which showed a decryption program running as O.W.C.A. tech wormed its way into the Kellers’ security and broadcast systems. A faint beep came from the watch, and then the face displayed the Kellers’ logo, spinning in slow circles like a three dimensional sign. Peter tapped at the screen and swiped, bringing up a long list of files and scrolling through them, eventually finding and pulling up blueprints to the ship that were clearly labeled. After scanning them for a minute, Peter pointed out a few on deck ten, designated as the Kellers’ offices.

“So how do we get down there without being seen by security or other guests or cameras?” Miggs asked, and Peter’s mouth twitched up in approval, tapping and swiping at his watch until a schedule of security and patrol routes came up, which he screenshotted and sent to his own phone, going by the notification buzz a moment later. After that, Peter pulled up the blueprints again, tracing a path through them that Miggs assumed they were to follow. On it were small red markers, which Miggs guessed were cameras, from the roundabout path Peter plotted to get around them.

With a satisfied nod, Peter twisted his watch face again to disconnect from the TV, wrapping the wire back up and clicking the face into place and spinning it shut.

“Ready to go?” Miggs asked, and Peter gave a short nod, expression blank and calm, Panda taking the place of Miggs’ friend as easily as one might change their shirt. Miggs looked away, fighting the urge to curl his hands into fists. “Let’s go, then.” Another nod, and Panda scooped up the cabin key from the shelf as Miggs walked out, Panda locking the door behind them.

Panda led Miggs along the hall to the staircase, heading down instead of up like they had before. The levels were largely abandoned, most people asleep or on the higher decks where the amenities were. When they reached the seventh, Panda tugged Miggs down a narrow hall, keeping close to the left wall until they reached a plain door labeled for employees only. Panda tried the handle and let out a frustrated noise when it proved to be locked.

“What did you expect, them to just leave it open?” Miggs muttered, poking at Panda until he reluctantly slid over and dug in his pockets for something. Miggs slipped a hand into his bag and pulled out a narrow strip of metal with a hooked end and a second flat tool, crouching by the door to slide both into the lock.

“Now I’m glad they’ve got the old fashioned locks, your little penny-things won’t do a thing to help us here,” Miggs mumbled as he wiggled both tools, feeling for the tumblers and poking until he felt them start to move. After a couple seconds, the lock slid back, and Miggs pulled his tools free. “Ta-dah.” Panda gave him a flat look from behind his goggles, and Miggs lifted an eyebrow. “What, you think just because I rent a lair I don’t know how to pick a lock? How do you think I get into my office when students steal my keys?” Panda paused, the corner of his mouth twitching against a smile as Miggs stood up to very slowly push the door open.

“Doesn’t look like there’s a trip on the other side,” Miggs said, pushing the door open the rest of the way and stepping through. Panda followed, and Miggs looked around the much-narrower and clearly staff-only stairwell. “Down again?” Panda nodded, and they descended another three levels, leaving the stairs to creep along a bare service hall, plain gray doors set into the walls and labeled with plastic white plates.

“Here, Keller,” Miggs said, gesturing at the fourth door down. Panda nodded and then pointed to the door just past it, also labeled Keller. “Which is whose?” Miggs asked, and Panda shrugged, gesturing for Miggs to take the first door as he made his way to the second. Miggs hesitated briefly at the thought of splitting up, but gave in when Panda tossed a grey penny-like object at him, pointing out the black security sensors at the top of the doors.

Stepping back slightly, Miggs flicked the not-penny at the door where it stuck and, with a faint zap, deactivated the sensor. Trying the knob he found it locked, and crouched down again to pick the lock. Glancing to the side, Miggs saw Panda doing the same, watch pressed to the lock like that was going to somehow help, and Miggs turned his attention back to his own task. A moment later Miggs pushed the door open, checking for any other sensors or trips, wondering at the Kellers’ trust in their sensors to the point that they had no extra layers of security.

Shutting the door behind himself, Miggs glanced around the office, noting the lack of cameras. It was largely similar to the office in the resort, but lacking in kitten calendars and motivational posters. The desk was even more cluttered, the computer squeezed between binders and notebooks, keyboard balanced on top of a couple textbook-thick novels and a mouse resting in a tiny space allocated it by a blue mousepad. 

Ignoring the computer for the moment, Miggs went to the filing cabinets and low bookshelf stuffed with binders labeled by dates on one wall, trying to pull open the first drawer he touched. It wouldn’t budge, and Miggs pulled out his tools to try and pick the small lock, to no avail. Frowning, he inspected it closer, and let out a soft sound of admiration when he noted that the lock was a dummy, the real one a couple inches below, a thumbprint scanner set almost seamlessly into the metal. 

Glancing around, Miggs pulled out a lift kit from his bag and checked the keyboard and desk, eventually coming up with enough of a thumbprint to get the drawer to open. With a faint beep, the locks on the cabinets disengaged, and Miggs pulled the first open.

It was full of manila folders labeled by year, and Miggs carefully thumbed through a couple before determining them to be mostly tax forms and legal papers related to owning and operating the resort, and employment files for the cruise staff. Shutting the drawer, Miggs moved onto the next, finding endless copies of brochures and pamphlets to advertise the resort and amenities, presumably the selection used to pick what was displayed in the atrium during the cruise.

Miggs went through the rest of the cabinets, and only in the last found the guest folders identical to the ones he’d discovered in the Kellers’ office on shore. Picking through them, he pulled out his and Peter’s file, finding that the sticky note had been replaced with a printed sheet, with the same shorthand notes as before, a few more lines added with dates and times. It’d last been updated just a couple hours ago, making note of their mutual handjob.

“Still filming us having sex, then,” Miggs murmured, flipping through the file and confirming that the ship cabins were monitored as well, but only the bed, not the bathroom or TV, so the Kellers hadn’t captured them fiddling with the television in order to hack into their network. Frowning, Miggs replaced the file and flicked through a couple more, double-checking that they weren’t being monitored more closely than any other couple on the cruise.

He paused when he flipped open one file, the photograph inside of two women catching his attention. They looked vaguely familiar, and when he checked the names, Leslie and Andrea Barlow, he remembered the two women from the elevator, when they’d first arrived. Frowning, Miggs skipped over the details of the two women’s sex lives, pausing when he noticed an extra sheet of paper, which just read  _ Close Mon. Posbl Agents. 2x acupp treat. _

Pulling out his phone, Miggs quickly snapped photos of the file to show Peter later, replacing it and moving on.

The rest of the cabinet yielded no new information, so Miggs went to the shelves, pulling down a binder at random and finding records of the spa treatments, who had been and when and for how long, and what treatments they’d gotten. The acupuncture and massage package appeared to be the most popular by far, most guests going back two or three times at least. Miggs grimaced at the idea of not one but hundreds of needles poking into his skin and quickly replaced the binder, leaving the hard copies of evidence to boot up the computer.

Ian Keller’s password yielded nothing but a  _ retry your password  _ message, so Miggs guessed that he was in Mrs. Keller’s office. Frowning, Miggs flipped open his bag to dig through it for a minute, pulling out a blackberry cell phone after a second and a USB cord. 

Plugging the phone into the computer, Miggs started his own decryption software running until the computer displayed the Welcome screen and then a generic flower desktop littered with icons. Sighing at the general disorganization of Patricia Keller’s computer, Miggs scanned the programs quickly before bringing up the file explorer and going to her recent and most visited folders. Rubbing his thumb over the keypad of the blackberry, Miggs started a search for villainous files and programs, letting the tech do the work as he pulled up her internet history. There was nothing out of the ordinary, the most suspicious thing being an inordinate amount of time spent on YouTube and Pinterest.

Closing the browser, Miggs checked the blackberry, which turned up negative results. Miggs let out a soft growl of frustration and disconnected it, tucking everything back into his bag. The Kellers’ hard copies were screaming of villain activity, but their computers were squeaky clean, almost like decoys.

Miggs blinked, straightening slightly and looking around the office again. Reasonably secure, with hard copies locked up in a way that only they could easily get into, and a computer that any Agent could hack (and would make a beeline for, from Miggs' experience in how agents operated) clean of any evidence.

After checking the rest of the office, Miggs determined there was nothing else new to learn, and shut down the computer again before stepping back out into the hall, checking the coast was clear before locking it and peeling the not-a-penny off the door to let the sensor resume its duties. The door to Ian Keller’s office was shut, and Miggs quickly went to it and stepped inside.

He let out a strangled gasp when someone punched him in the stomach and then grabbed his throat, pinning him to the door. Miggs grabbed the fingers around his neck, glaring at Panda over the stranglehold he had on Miggs.

“Jesus  _ fuck,  _ Peter, it’s just me!” Miggs rasped, and Panda’s grip loosened, letting go of Miggs’ throat and stepping back with an apologetic grimace. “Did you forget I was here or something?” Miggs hissed and when Panda ducked his head slightly Miggs scowled. “You fucking  _ did,  _ you asshole!” Panda rubbed a fist against his chest briefly before giving Miggs an expectant look. Miggs rubbed at his now-sore gut, glaring at Panda.

“Did  _ you  _ find anything?” he asked, and Panda wiggled a hand, palm down. “Sort of? What?” Panda waved a hand around the office, and Miggs took in a couple ocean-themed motivational posters, a bookshelf crammed with photo albums and novels, and a desk that was far less cluttered than Mrs. Keller’s.

“Looks like I got the more interesting room,” Miggs said, pulling out his phone. “The computer was clean, I think if they’re doing anything digitally it’ll be on a laptop or something they keep with them or nearby, something that some Agent can’t come along and snoop through easily.” Miggs smirked when Panda’s eyebrows lifted slightly, pulling up the photos of the Barlow file. “Did O.W.C.A. send in another team?” Panda frowned and shook his head, taking Miggs’ phone from him to swipe through the photos, frown deepening. “So another agency? Or they just put off the wrong vibe and the Kellers pegged them as a threat.” Peter nodded, handing Miggs’ phone back to him before beckoning him towards where a photo album was lying open on Keller’s desk. Inside were old photos, at least fifteen or twenty years old at first glance. At a closer look, Miggs determined the photos were about twenty two years old, since most of them had been taken in his childhood home.

“That’s my father,” Miggs said after a minute, hesitantly reaching out to rub a thumb along the edge of a photo that showed a younger Ian Keller standing with an arm around the shoulders of a man with dark skin and a neat goatee, both their lab coats a little singed and dirty. A destroyed inator was in the background, still smoking. The photo was labeled  _ First Thwarting; 1985. Officially a villain! _ underneath in simple print. Bernie Ortega looked amused, Ian a bit irritated, and Miggs frowned, trying to remember.

“I was here for this photo,” Miggs said eventually, tapping a finger next to it. “Mom took this picture. Dad and Ian worked on this project together, to get Ian into the game. She brought me along after the Agent had come and gone, I was standing next to her when she took this.” Panda didn’t say anything, and Miggs glanced at the other photos, flipping to the next page and going still.

The first photo was of Ian sitting in a chair, hair wild and with a pair glasses pushed up onto his forehead. In his lap was a little boy, about eight, with a big gap in his front teeth and curls sticking up everywhere like he’d been electrocuted.

“Oh,” Miggs said, staring. The photo was labeled  _ Ian & Miggs, Christmas 1986. High-power plasma globe a success!  _ “I…I had no idea he had this, that he’d keep…” Miggs looked up to see Panda staring at him, expression blank and eyes nearly invisible behind the dark lenses of his glasses. He had his notepad out, and when he lifted it, there was already a blocky message on the paper.

**_You didn’t tell me._ **

“What? Didn’t tell you what?” Miggs asked, frowning. “I told you he knew my father.” Panda’s mouth twitched down before smoothing out again, and he calmly flipped the notepad over to add another line, amending the first so it read  **_You didn’t tell me you were that close. That he was like family._ **

Miggs shrugged, looking back down at the album, more pictures of a half-repressed childhood he didn’t even have these small mementos of.

“He was…sort of like an uncle to me, I guess? A distant one. He wasn’t around as much as it looks, I saw him once every few months, but he always let me experiment with him and Dad when Mom wasn’t around, so I liked him, yeah.” Miggs looked up to see Panda staring down at his notepad, the brim of his hat hiding his eyes completely, mouth pressed into a thin line. “Peter, I didn’t—I didn’t  _ lie _ to you. He hasn’t seen me in twenty years, and he has Alzheimer's. After my parents…after, I never saw him again. I went into the system, and stayed there. You know that.”

Panda let out a short breath and looked aside for a second before reaching up to grab his hat off his head and toss it onto the desk, scrawling another note and shoving it at Miggs, face hard and frustrated.

**_OWCA would have me arrest you and abort this mission. You’re way WAY too close to this. We’re lucky you didn’t blow our cover earlier when we met them._ **

_ “ What? _ _”_ Miggs hissed, hands curling into fists at his sides. “I wouldn’t even  _ be  _ here if you hadn’t asked me! You said you  _ trusted  _ me, Peter! How does this change anything?” Peter scowled, reaching up to push his goggles onto his forehead, squinting at Miggs in the dark of the room.

**_UR forgetting that UR also a villain. That we are NEMESES._ **

“I haven’t forgotten!” Miggs snapped, grabbing Peter’s hat and waving it at him. “Don’t you think I  _ know  _ that you’ve been in Agent mode this whole fucking time, hat on or not? I’m not  _ stupid,  _ Peter! You’re a damn good actor, and I’m doing my Goddamn best to keep up, but don’t forget I’m doing this because I’m your fucking  _ friend  _ too,  remember?  _ You’re _ the one that seems to be forgetting things.” Miggs shoved Peter’s hat at him until he took it, eyebrows drawn down and mouth pressed into a thin line.

“This isn’t the place to have a fight,” Miggs said after a second, reaching up to rub his fingers over his forehead. “We still need to go pretend we’re a happy couple on our honeymoon playing mini golf or some shit at midnight to explain why we’re not in our fucking room right now.” Peter blew out a breath and nodded shortly, and Miggs scowled, flipping the photo album shut and pushing it at Peter to put away.

Miggs stalked out of the office, barely remembering to check that the hall was still empty before exiting, leaving Peter to lock the door again behind them. They quickly made their way back to the main staircase, Miggs pulling off his beanie and tucking it into his bag as Peter collapsed his fedora to tuck it into his pocket and do the same with his goggles, exchanging them for his sunglasses before tugging off his tie and tucking that away as well. By the time they reemerged onto the main deck of the ship, they looked mostly normal, if a little surly.

“Come on, let’s go fucking golfing on a cruise,” Miggs muttered, reaching over to grab Peter’s hand, walking with him along the deck. It was less crowded than during the day, but there were still a fair amount of people about for two in the morning, and they weaved their way through small crowds as they walked through the atrium and along the deck to the mini golf course under the twisting water slides to the upper deck pool.

While the walked, Peter slowly tugged Miggs closer until he could let go of his hand to wrap his arm around Miggs’ shoulders, pulling him in to hesitantly kiss at his hair a couple times. Miggs sighed and stopped walking, turning his head to lean into Peter a little.

“You said you trusted me before we started all this,” Miggs mumbled, wrapping one arm around Peter’s back and clinging to the fabric of his jacket. “Is that still true?” Peter was still for a minute, and then he nodded, kissing Miggs’ hair again until Miggs lifted his head and kissed Peter on the mouth, soft and slow in a way that made Miggs’ knees feel a little weak.

“Okay. Then let's go work out our frustration on some fucking golf balls,” Miggs said, pulling back enough that they could walk comfortably and making Peter laugh in surprise. A warm feeling bloomed in Miggs’ stomach at the sound, and his cheeks darkened with a blush as he walked tucked under Peter’s arm the rest of the way to the mini golf course. 


	13. Chapter 13

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter has been lovingly dubbed "Ode to Blowjobs" and for good reason it's basically 6k of bj I'm sorry I swear the plot will be coming back from war soon it's just...taking a while..... 0u0;;;

Peter got a golf ball stuck in the tiny windmill and Miggs managed to hit four over the side of the ship before they decided minigolf was for children and retreated back to their cabin.

“I hate golf, it’s a boring sport anyway,” Miggs grumbled as Peter unlocked their door and shot a grin over his shoulder at Miggs. “Don’t you look at me like that, at least I didn’t break the damn course.” Peter rolled his eyes and signed something Miggs didn’t understand but guessed meant  _ didn’t break it, just got stuck.  _ “I know you heard the gears inside break, Peter, you winced like you do when you break the coffee pot in the teacher’s lounge.” Peter huffed as Miggs shut the door behind them, turning to playfully push at Miggs.

“Hey, dick,” Miggs retorted, grabbing Peter’s wrist and pulling. Peter stumbled, planting one elbow against the door to avoid crushing Miggs against it. They stared at each other for a second, frozen just inches apart, close enough that Miggs could feel Peter’s breath ghosting over his skin.

“Um,” Miggs said after a second, flushing when Peter’s gaze turned a bit heated, darkening in a way that had nothing to do with faking attraction. It made Miggs’ heart jump in his chest before it began to race, biting his lip as Peter leaned a little closer. Miggs hesitantly reached out and tangled his fingers in Peter’s shirt, and Peter growled softly, pressing close and leaning down a little to hover uncertainly, mouths hardly a hair’s breath apart.

“Peter,” Miggs mumbled, swallowing weakly when Peter let out a soft sound, raw and needy from low in his throat. “God.” Peter nodded just barely, eyes flicking between meeting Miggs’ gaze and staring at his mouth. Miggs licked his lips automatically and Peter pressed both forearms against the door by Miggs’ head, hands curled into fists and effectively trapping him. A tiny quiver of excitement ran through Miggs at that, knowing if Peter kissed him now, it wouldn’t be for show, it wouldn’t be because the Kellers were peering through their security system watching, it wouldn’t be  _ fake.  _ If Peter kissed him, it would be because Peter  _ wanted  _ to.

A tiny whine escaped Miggs at the thought, and he desperately wanted to lift his head just the last few centimeters that separated them and kiss Peter, who was staring at his mouth like a war was going on between his desires. Miggs screwed up what little courage he had, heart racing, hoping Peter wouldn’t reject him—fuck, the man had him practically pinned against the door, for once every logical sign was pointing in the direction that yes, Peter wanted him, but he couldn’t help but fear—

Peter slowly leaned in and Miggs’ heart leapt, and then throbbed when instead of kissing him, Peter dropped his head to Miggs’ shoulder, letting out a frustrated grunt. Miggs stared at the interior of their cabin, trying very hard not to overthink what that meant, if it was a rejection, or just Peter being tired after a long day and short nap.

After a second, Peter pulled back and reached down to tangle his fingers with Miggs’, removing his grip on Peter’s shirt. Peter ran his fingers through Miggs’ hair, messing it all up and making Miggs arch at the attention. Probably just tired, then. Maybe Peter did want him, but was just tired. He had to be, being in agent mode twenty-four seven for the last few days.

“Bed?” Miggs asked after a moment, when Peter stopped running his fingers through Miggs’ curls. Peter nodded, pulling Miggs away from the door and towards the covers that were still rumpled and messy from sleep and sex earlier. Miggs flushed at the memory of Peter thrusting against him, desperate and naked and—

Miggs must have made a sound, because Peter turned to look at him, expression drawing into a frown when he took in Miggs’ flushed features and guilty expression.

“I—uh. Sorry,” Miggs said, looking away. “It’s nothing.” Peter hummed, dropping Miggs’ hand in favor of reaching up to grab his chin, turning Miggs to look at him, pressing the back of his other hand to Miggs’ cheek and then his forehead.

“I don’t have a fever,” Miggs protested when he realized Peter was checking his temperature. “I was just—thinking. That’s all.” Peter quirked an eyebrow and then shrugged, letting go of Miggs so he could kick off his shoes and walk past him to start quickly emptying his pockets into one of the drawers, hat and goggles appearing and disappearing in the blink of an eye. Miggs watched Peter shrug off his jacket and fold it away as well, standing in his button up and trousers and glasses, looking like nothing more than Miggs’ friend.

Except there _was_ the wedding band around his finger when he reached up to run his fingers through his hair. So maybe not quite looking like  _ just  _ Miggs’ friend.

Miggs bit his lip nervously, looking down at his left hand where the pale metal circled his own finger. He still hadn’t managed to get it to budge, even slicking it with soap in the shower, but he’d gotten surprisingly used to it, and realized he’d probably feel naked even if he  _ did  _ manage to get it off.

Miggs looked up to see Peter watching him, eyes following Miggs’ gaze to his ring and then back up. Peter lifted an eyebrow again, and Miggs shook his head, sitting on the edge of the mattress to kick his own shoes off on Peter’s side, going ahead and toeing his socks off as well. Miggs watched Peter out of the corner of his eye as Peter started slowly unbuttoning his shirt, seemingly unaware of Miggs watching him. It could have just been Miggs imagining things, but he felt like tension was starting to build between them, making Miggs feel tense and excited and a little afraid.

As Peter slid out of his shirt and dropped it to the ground, Miggs pulled his own off over his head and left it at his feet, skin prickling with goosebumps that had nothing to do with temperature when Peter glanced at him.

It was late, really late, nearly four in the morning and God knew they had another long day ahead of them tomorrow, but all Miggs wanted was to drag Peter into bed and do anything but sleep.

“Have you…ever done this before?” Miggs asked after a minute, making Peter blink and look up from undoing his belt. He tilted his head, looking confused, and Miggs put his hands between his knees, staring down at them as he elaborated, “Have you ever gone undercover with someone like this before. Where you…got married, and had sex, and—and faked a whole relationship just for the job.” Peter paused and then made a face, wiggling one hand palm down.

“Sort of?” Miggs guessed, stomach feeling unpleasantly squirmy at the thought of Peter having done this with someone else, making Miggs’ hope that maybe, just maybe, there  _ was  _ something, shrink until it was nearly nothing. Peter nodded and then shrugged, patting at his pockets until he found his notepad and flipped it open, scrawling along a page before handing it to Miggs.

**_Posed as couple w/Agent C once. Target liked seducing taken women. Was only a couple days of holding hands & kissing. She did most of the heavy lifting w/the case; I was just there to look pretty._ **

Miggs snorted and handed the pad back, Peter flashing a grin as he set it aside to finish pulling off his belt.

“So you’ve never fucked anyone for O.W.C.A.,” Miggs asked, and Peter paused before making another face. “What’s that look for?” Peter sighed and picked his notepad back up.

**_Done a couple missions where I slept w/ppl for intel. What’s it matter?_ **

Miggs hesitated, lowering the notepad and biting his lip.

“It matters…” he paused, struggling to explain why he wanted Peter to tell him that this was different, that touching Miggs and being married to Miggs was  _ different  _ than when he’d gone undercover or slept with people for work.

The problem was it really wasn’t different at all, except Miggs and Peter were nemeses, friends, and Miggs was in love with Peter.

“It doesn’t,” Miggs said after a second, pushing the pad back at Peter without looking at him. “I’m just being nosy, I guess. Since we don’t talk about our night jobs, like ever. And this is the first time I’m really getting to see you being Peter the Panda when you’re _not_ trying to punch me in the face.” Miggs tried to play it off like a joke, but the words rang hollow, and the huff of laughter he’d hoped to inspire never sounded.

“Sorry,” Miggs said after a second. “I’m…really bad at this. Villains don’t really  _ do  _ stuff like this, you know. They don’t…we don’t do undercover missions where we end up fucking our friends-slash-nemeses turned fake-spouses.” Miggs laughed awkwardly, the sound choking off with surprise when Peter reached out to grab his shoulder. He looked concerned, and Miggs reached up to put a hand over his own face with a sigh.

“Sorry,” he said again. “Sorry, fuck, I just…um. It’s kind of. Confusing. I mean, you know how much free time I get between teaching and working on inators, Peter, how often do you think I get laid?” Miggs laughed again, the sound a touch self-depreciating. “It doesn’t—doesn’t mean anything, it’s just adrenaline and whirlwind and being close all the time, yeah?” Peter stared at him, looking away with a hint of pink in his cheeks as he nodded. 

Miggs fought not to worry how badly he’d just damaged their friendship by all but admitting that he was having feelings for Peter, giving him a weak smile when Peter glanced back at him, looking uncertain. Peter squeezed his shoulder and then let go to finish getting undressed and climb into bed, leaving Miggs to slowly follow.

He tried not to wonder if he’d traded his entire friendship with Peter for a week of being his fake husband, and tried even harder not to wonder why he’d ever agreed to this, because losing Peter, under any circumstance, could never be worth anything. 

Miggs flipped off the lights and slid under the sheets in his tank top and underwear, laying flat on his back next to Peter, who was staring up at the ceiling, glasses off now and eyes the same intense blue as the night they’d swam naked in the ocean together.

Folding his hands over his stomach, Miggs stared up at the ceiling, aware that Peter was making no move to curl up close to him like he had practically every night they’d slept in the same bed together. Even with Peter laying right there, the bed felt too big without him pressed tight to Miggs’ body; Miggs pushed away the idle thought of how empty his bed back home was going to feel without Peter in it after the cruise.

“Does it bother you to touch me?” Miggs asked, voice small and trembling a little towards the end. “Like, like when we…earlier. Before we napped. I—” Miggs stopped reaching up to press his fingers against his eyes, blowing out a frustrated breath. “I, um. Don’t mind. But I don’t…don’t want to keep making you uncomfortable, but the—the mission—” It was a weak excuse, and the rest of it died in his throat with shame that boiled in his gut. He couldn’t keep using their cover to touch Peter when he didn’t want to be. Miggs was an adult, he could control himself, they could fake it under the covers again if the Kellers grew suspicious of their lack of sexual activity, Miggs could—

Peter rolled away and Miggs’ heart seized with sudden pain, but then Peter rolled closer, notepad in hand and Miggs’ heart resumed its previous pace, if a bit unsteadily.

**_I LIKE touching u. Don’t want to make YOU uncomfortable._ **

“I…oh,” Miggs said weakly, struggling against the sudden tidal wave of relief sweeping through him. “So…okay.” Miggs nodded, relaxing into the mattress as Peter twisted to toss his notepad in the general direction of the shelf. He turned back to Miggs, rubbing one finger at his ear for a second before shaking his head slightly and slowly sliding in closer to hesitantly reach out and brush his hand along Miggs’ arm. Miggs bit his lip and shut his eyes, trying to hold onto the idea that Peter was touching him because they needed to look like a couple for the mission, because Peter was his friend, because Peter  _ liked  _ touching him.

Miggs rolled onto his side, curling one arm against his chest and slipping the other around Peter’s waist, slotting close to him as Peter wrapped both arms around Miggs’ torso and dragged him in even closer. Miggs slid one leg between Peter’s thighs, and Peter hooked his ankle around Miggs’ to keep him from pulling back, leaning down to rub his face against Miggs’ hair, letting out a slow breath.

“We’re fucking everything up, aren’t we?” Miggs mumbled and Peter went still before shrugging, tightening his grip on Miggs. Miggs sighed and squeezed back, arching into Peter and nuzzling into his throat. The bruise Miggs had left on Peter’s throat earlier was dark under Peter’s skin, and Miggs brushed his lips over it, trying to steer his thoughts away from what they’d been doing when Miggs had made that mark. He didn’t really want to get hard right now and have to put Peter through Miggs popping a boner for him just from some cuddling on top of everything else.

Peter let out a soft sound of pleasure, tilting his head slightly, inviting Miggs to keep brushing his mouth over his skin. Miggs hesitated before doing so, too weak to resist. Peter groaned as Miggs slowly kissed along his throat, pressing soft kisses under the hinge of Peter’s jaw, the column of his throat, down to the crook of his shoulder.

Peter slid one hand down Miggs’ back to slip it under the hem of his undershirt, rubbing back up the length of Miggs’ spine to cup the back of his neck, most of Peter’s arm under Miggs’ clothing and pressed to his skin. Miggs shuddered and let out a quiet groan of pleasure as Peter squeezed the back of his neck, thumb and fingers digging into the muscle in small circles.

“Ahhnnn, fuck,” Miggs groaned into Peter’s throat, arching into him, melting as Peter shifted his grip a little, rubbing carefully around a knot in Miggs’ neck. “Ow. No, don’t stop. It’s a good ow.” Peter huffed in amusement and resumed massaging the knot until it was gone, leaving Miggs moaning. Peter shifted his grip again, rubbing a little lower on Miggs’ neck, near where the muscle connected to his shoulders, and Miggs groaned, tilting his head a little so Peter could keep massaging him.

“Okay, now I see why you were offended I’d never really had one of these,” Miggs groaned, and Peter snorted, dragging his hands down along Miggs’ spine, pressure light over his scarring, like he wasn’t sure if it would hurt him. Miggs simply arched into the light pressure, turning his head to keep kissing at Peter’s throat, his own fingers tracing little circles and spirals on Peter’s back, rubbing the knuckles of the other hand against Peter’s chest, catching just slightly on his body hair.

Peter hummed in pleasure and started pressing kisses to Miggs’ hair and temple, and Miggs let out a pathetic whimper at the simple affection, selfishly wanting more. Peter kept kissing him, mouth brushing over Miggs’ forehead when he tilted his head back, fingers still wandering over Miggs’ back through his shirt. Peter’s other arm slid back from where it was wrapped around his waist to brush his palm along the waistband of Miggs’ underwear, and Miggs arched automatically, wishing Peter would grab him, grope at him desperately like he had yesterday. 

Miggs gasped when Peter’s hand did slide down to cup his ass, grip firm and a little desperate, but not the frantic, lust-driven grope of before. Miggs groaned and pressed back into Peter’s touch, sliding the arm between them up to snake it around Peter’s neck and press flush against him. Miggs buried his face in Peter’s throat, knowing that if he pulled back he’d start kissing Peter, and he had no idea if that was allowed. Sure, the man was grabbing his ass, but Miggs was just so uncertain of  _ everything,  _ he had no idea if this was for show or because Peter wanted to touch him like this, if it was some weird  _ really  _ good friends sort of comfort, or if Peter wanted Miggs just as badly as Miggs wanted him. He was just so confused. 

Peter slid his other hand down from under Miggs’ shirt to grab his ass with both hands briefly, squeezing and then sliding one back up under the edge of his tank top, thumb of his left hand rubbing over the curve of Miggs’ cheek as the other dragged along the knobs of his spine.

“Mmm, Peter,” Miggs sighed when his husband traced along one of the thin scars twisting along his back, and Peter let out an encouraging noise, making Miggs blink. “Peter?” he repeated hesitantly and Peter tightened his grip on Miggs, a soft growl catching in his chest when Miggs said his name again, testing. Miggs flushed, glancing up at Peter as he peppered a few kisses against Peter’s throat, murmuring his name as he did. Peter groaned and squeezed Miggs’ ass hard enough to make him gasp before relaxing his grip again, and Miggs squirmed a little in his hold, accidentally bringing his knee up against Peter’s crotch. Peter twitched, mostly in surprise and perhaps a touch in pain, and Miggs cursed under his breath.

“Fuck, sorry, I didn’t mean to—did I hurt you?” Miggs asked, and Peter shook his head, shifting awkwardly before letting go of Miggs’ ass to reach up and grab one of his wrists, slowly guiding Miggs’ hand down between them. “You—you want me to—?” Miggs choked, heart leaping in his chest at the thought that Peter wanted Miggs to touch him again. Peter squirmed, seeming to hesitate before nodding with a soft whine, pulling Miggs’ hand down between them to press his palm against the front of Peter’s boxers. He was only a little hard, throbbing with a sudden surge of arousal against Miggs’ hand, and Miggs bit his lip against a whimper when his cock took an immediate interest in joining any activities going on.

Miggs gently palmed Peter’s dick through his underwear, listening intently to every breathy moan and sigh Peter made as Miggs touched him, squeezing and rubbing and stroking his length until he was hard. Miggs whimpered and squirmed a little, wanting more but worried initiating anything further would make Peter stop. After all, the last time Miggs had pushed for more, begged Peter to strip naked with him and then climbed on top of him and rutted against him to completion, Peter hadn’t looked at Miggs straight on until their fight in Keller’s office.

“Fuck,” Miggs hissed when Peter bucked against his palm, a spot on his boxers catching on his skin as a bit of precome wet the fabric and and made it stick.  _ “Peter _ .” Peter groaned and let go of Miggs’ ass to grab his hip instead, pushing until Miggs rolled onto his back with a whimper, forced to stop touching Peter.

“Did I—did I do something wrong?” Miggs stammered, but Peter shook his head quickly, running his hand from Miggs’ shoulder to his wrist, stroking and hesitating before moving his hand to cup at the bulge in his briefs. Miggs blushed when his hips arched up into the touch without his permission, but Peter didn’t seem to mind, a soft growl bubbling in his chest as Miggs bit his lip. Miggs tilted his head in invitation when Peter leaned down to start kissing his shoulder, slow and soft and a little wet, lips slowly making their way along Miggs’ skin to the crook of his shoulder and then his throat, nibbling slightly until he moaned.

“Peter,” Miggs sighed, reaching out without thinking and grabbing at his husband, trying to pull him closer, pull Peter on top of him. Peter groaned and then sucked a bruise onto Miggs’ skin, which had become a mottled canvas of hickies around his throat the last few days.

“ _ Nnngh _ , again,” Miggs panted when Peter let go, and after a beat Peter pressed closer, mouthing at Miggs throat before sucking another bruise against his pulse point, using just enough teeth to make Miggs arch, rubbing his erection against Peter’s palm. Peter stopped biting him to suck in a shaky breath, fingers tightening around Miggs’ cock briefly before slipping under the band of Miggs’ underwear. Miggs gasped as Peter slowly started stroking him, like he was savoring every little response Miggs made, fingers running from base to tip in an agonizing slide, twisting just slightly at the head before running back down.

“O-ohhh, God,” Miggs groaned, clutching Peter’s left bicep and right shoulder as he fought to not start fucking up into Peter’s fist. The slow pace bordered on teasing, with just enough friction to make him squirm with pleasure. “P-Peter, please!” Miggs shuddered, turning his head to press his face into Peter’s neck, gasping for breath as Peter gave his dick one last lingering stroke before letting go, sliding his hand down further to cup at his sac and then push a couple fingers down against Miggs’ perineum before the waistband of Miggs’ underwear hindered him from going any further.

Miggs spread his legs eagerly regardless, trembling with the thought of Peter inside him, even if it was just his fingers.

Peter moaned, staring down the length of Miggs’ body to take in the sight, fingers rubbing firm little circles against Miggs’ perineum until he was rocking his hips to rub the underside of his cock against Peter’s wrist for any sort of friction.

“P-Peter, Peter,  _ Peter,  _ fuck,  _ please, _ ” Miggs gasped, squirming and twisting his hips as the need to get off started to overpower the fear of going too far. “I  _ want  _ you.” Peter whined, pulling his hand free of Miggs’ underwear to tug uncertainly at the edge of them. Miggs nodded helplessly, lifting his hips and reaching down to start shoving them off, kicking free of them before stripping out of his tank top and throwing the blanket completely off for good measure. Peter let out a pathetic sound at the sight of Miggs’ naked body, and Miggs blushed, rolling onto his side to start touching Peter, reaching down to hesitantly cup his hard cock through his boxers before grabbing the hip of them and trying to tug them down.

“Please, I—I want you naked, too, please, felt  _ so  _ good last time—” Miggs whispered, shame flooding his cheeks, but Peter didn’t laugh or refuse, just quickly pushed his own underwear off to be lost between the sheets, and Miggs whimpered at the sight of Peter’s cock. “Fuck, I want to—” He cut himself off, covering his stupid mouth with one hand and glancing at Peter fearfully. Peter didn’t look upset, just turned on and curious, lifting an eyebrow before reaching up to pull Miggs’ hand away from his face with an expectant expression.

Biting his lip, Miggs looked away before admitting in a mutter, “I want to suck you. A lot.” Peter’s breath caught, and when Miggs looked up, Peter looked torn. Miggs ducked his head, grimacing. “I’m sorry, I don’t mean to—I don’t fucking know, be inappropriate? Considering?” Miggs waved a hand between them, trying to figure out how he was supposed to know what was allowed and what wasn’t when their entire romantic and sexual relationship was fake but the erection between his legs and the ache in his chest were all too fucking real.

Peter caught his hand, making him look up. Peter shook his head quickly, propping himself up on his elbow and giving Miggs a sheepish look before gesturing at his own mouth and then in the general direction of Miggs’ dick. It took him a second, but then he got it and blushed.

“Oh,” he said, voice weak and a touch breathless, feeling torn himself now and wondering which he wanted more: to suck Peter’s cock, or to have Peter’s mouth around him instead. “I—um. We could…I dunno, take turns?” Miggs mumbled, feeling silly and woefully inexperienced all of a sudden. It wasn’t like he was a virgin, far from, but he knew very well that Peter had leagues of experience on him, and Miggs’ own sparse history of sexual activity paled exponentially in comparison. 

Peter smirked and shook his head, moving to lay on his back before reaching out to grab Miggs’ hips and drag him around until he ended up with his knees to either side of Peter’s head on the pillow and his face pressed to Peter’s stomach. Miggs laid there in shock for a second, still a little blindsided by Peter’s ability and clear willingness to manhandle him like he weighed nothing, and by how much that turned him on.

Peter made a soft sound and Miggs gathered enough wits to brace his weight on his palms and lift up to look down between his legs.

His cock was hanging thick and heavy, precome beading at the tip and dripping down to land on Peter’s lower lip.

“Oh,” Miggs said, voice a little strangled. “Sorry.” Peter growled, tongue darting out to lick up the dribble of precome on his mouth, making Miggs moan weakly. “Oh, fuck.” Peter hummed, gaze darting down to give Miggs a smug look before reaching up with both hands to stroke his sides, his hips and then his thighs, one hand running up to grab his ass and squeeze one cheek, the other sliding up the inside of Miggs’ thigh to wrap around his cock and pull gently back until Peter could drag his tongue over the head.

Miggs cried out and trembled, hips twitching a little as Peter rubbed his tongue against Miggs’ slit, moaning at the thick pulse of Miggs’ cock in his hand and against his tongue.

“Oh,  _ fuck,  _ Peter!” Miggs gasped, desire blooming sharp and hot in the pit of his stomach as Peter slowly swirled his tongue around the head and then wrapped his lips around the tip to suck lightly. Miggs keened, pleasure pooling in his body like liquid fire, making him tremble and forget everything but Peter’s touch.

Peter sucked a little more firmly, making Miggs tremble and press his face against Peter’s thigh, the thick line of Peter’s cock throbbing against his cheek as Peter thickened slightly more with arousal. Miggs mouth watered slightly and he quickly wrapped a hand around the base of Peter’s cock and lifted his head so he could drag his tongue from base to tip.

Peter let out a surprised sound, vibration racing along Miggs’ length.

“Oh, God,” Miggs gasped, shaking and clutching at Peter’s thigh with his free hand as Peter started sucking at the head of his cock a little more eagerly, tongue rubbing against the frenulum and slit. Miggs bit his lip against a whine, a little embarrassed by how needy he sounded when Peter was barely doing anything to him yet.

Shuddering, Miggs let go of his lower lip to drag his tongue over Peter’s cock again, a flipping sensation in his stomach making him twitch when Peter moaned around him. Trying to keep enough of his wits to do a good job sucking Peter off as Peter pulled wetly at Miggs’ cock, Miggs slid his mouth over Peter’s dick and carefully swallowed him down until he reached the root, the head of Peter’s cock pressing into Miggs’ throat.

Peter let go of his cock when Miggs reached his base, throwing his head briefly to let out a wheezy sort of groan that sounded like  _ “Haanngghhh,”  _ as if  he hadn’t expected Miggs to take his entire length in one go like that. Miggs held around the base of Peter’s cock as long as he could, swallowing around the head and sucking around his length a couple times, earning a soft whine and then a loud keen of pleasure, Peter’s hips lifting to press as far into Miggs’ mouth as he could even though Miggs’ lips were already stretched around his base. Miggs managed to pull a third swallow around the girth of Peter’s dick before he began to worry about triggering his gag reflex, his lungs burning from lack of air.

He pulled off with a wet, filthy noise that made him blush, gasping and drooling everywhere before he managed to get his mouth shut and swallow. Peter moaned and dragged the hand groping Miggs’ ass down to grip his thigh instead, squeezing slightly before pulling Miggs’ cock back into his mouth and lifting his head to suck half Miggs’ length into his mouth.

“Fuck!” Miggs rasped, voice rough and lower than usual from the brief abuse of his throat. Peter whimpered around him and started sucking at him eagerly, tongue working along his length and swirling around until he moaned. Miggs wrapped his hand around the base of Peter’s cock to hold him steady and leaned down to slip his mouth over Peter’s length again, not taking him to the base but only about halfway instead, sucking and stroking what he didn’t have in his mouth with his hand, starting to bob his head. Peter’s cock throbbed in his mouth and Peter lifted his hips haltingly, but Miggs just moved with the slight motion, rhythm hardly interrupted. Peter groaned deeply around him, vibration making Miggs inhale sharply through his nose as he automatically bucked his hips down into the pleasurable sensation, pushing his cock deep into Peter’s mouth and surely choking him. Peter twitched but quickly adjusted, swallowing Miggs down and tightening his grip on Miggs’ thigh when he tried to retreat. Miggs whimpered as Peter sucked him, lifting his head as high as he could to pull Miggs’ entire length into his mouth.

Miggs trembled, hesitantly rolling his hips to thrust shallowly between Peter’s lips, gasping when Peter grabbed his hips with both hands, not to stop him, but simply guide him, keeping him steady so he could fuck Peter’s mouth without going too far. Miggs groaned and quickly started thrusting short and fast into Peter’s mouth, spit slicking his length and Peter’s lips until he was shaking from how good it was, wet and hot and tight, with just the faintest scrape of Peter’s teeth against the underside, not enough to hurt but more than enough to make him shiver.

Miggs grabbed Peter’s hips with both hands, trying to encourage him to do the same, to fuck into Miggs’ mouth, sucking at him eagerly until Peter got the message. With a groan, Peter gripped Miggs’ hip tighter with one hand and reached down with the other to knot his fingers in the hair on nearly the back of Miggs’ head, holding his head steady as he braced his feet on the bed and started thrusting up into his mouth, shallow and slow until Miggs tightened his grip on Peter’s hips and bobbed his head to take Peter all the way to the base and then pull off to just around the tip to suck in a quick breath before repeating it. He pulled off for just a second, panting and shaking, orgasm starting to curl in the pit of his stomach as he fucked Peter’s mouth helplessly, the man’s hand on his hip the only thing keeping him from plunging into Peter’s throat repeatedly in a gross display of selfish lust.

“L-like that, fuck me like that, Peter, please, please, trust me,  _ fuck  _ me,” Miggs begged, earning a desperate keen and buck of Peter’s hips before he swallowed him down again, and Peter fisted his hand in Miggs’ hair tight enough to make him moan before starting to fuck into Miggs’ mouth at a nearly brutal pace, thrusting his entire length into Miggs’ mouth and partially down his throat before pulling back to the tip so he could breathe.

Miggs moaned around Peter’s dick and shut his eyes, focusing on remembering to breathe when Peter pulled out, the rest of his attention going to where he was frantically grinding against Peter’s face, shameless and desperate and not really caring at the moment if this ruined their friendship for good, because Peter was always going to leave, but at least now Miggs had this.

Peter clutched Miggs’ hip hard to make him stop, crying out and pushing his cock as deeply into Miggs’ mouth as he could get it. He pulled off Miggs’ dick to gasp, shuddering under Miggs as he started to come, pulsing thick and hot straight into Miggs’ throat, making him swallow all of it. Miggs trembled and moaned, swallowing Peter’s come down and reluctantly letting him pull free with a whimper of over-sensitivity a minute later.

“Oh  _ God, _ ” Miggs groaned, feeling like a current of electricity was running over his skin from how aroused he was, head swimming with a sensation akin to a few beers and maybe a shot. “Peter,  _ please. _ ” His voice sounded like he’d gargled gravel, and Peter groaned helplessly, limp cock twitching against his hip as Miggs watched before he hung his head down between his shoulders to stare at his husband.

“Peter, I need to come, please, I’m  _ so  _ close, please, please,” Miggs begged, biting his lip as he shamelessly rubbed his cock against Peter’s cheek, the faintly bristly sensation of Peter's beard a little strange against the sensitive skin of Miggs’ dick. Peter nodded weakly, looking like he’d just run a marathon in half the record time, sweaty and flushed and gorgeous in a way that had Miggs very impatient to have him sucking his cock again.

_ “Pleas _ _e_ ,” Miggs groaned, rough and scratchy. “ _ Peter. _ ” Peter moaned again and reached up to pull Miggs’ hips back towards his face, sucking Miggs’ cock into his mouth and dragging his fingers though the spit all over his lips and chin to wet them before reaching up between Miggs’ legs above his head to rub along Miggs’ crack.

“Oh!” Miggs choked, hips pushing back into the touch, Peter’s wet fingers circling his hole sending sparks of sensation up his spine and along his cock. Peter groaned and rubbed more, pads of his fingers dragging against his opening and trembling when Miggs made himself relax, knowing Peter’s fingers wouldn’t be wet enough to get inside him, but wanting him to try anyway. Peter groaned and pressed the tip of one of his fingers into Miggs’ body, but no more, making him groan in disappointment.

“Please, please, I’m  _ begging  _ you, if you hadn’t already come I—God!” Miggs gasped, arching when Peter carefully wiggled the finger inside him, creating a slow burn of sensation that had him speechless but loud in his approval nonetheless. Peter hummed, slow and drawn out, sucking Miggs down to the base and swallowing around him, and then Miggs was tumbling into orgasm, clinging to Peter’s hips and letting out a strangled cry of ecstasy that sounded vaguely like Peter’s name. Even though he could have easily pulled off and let Miggs spill onto his skin or the blanket instead, Peter let Miggs come against his tongue, pulse after pulse flooding his mouth until Miggs whimpered and did his best to fall to one side so he wouldn’t knock the breath out of Peter or anything worse.

Miggs laid on his side, feeling like he’d had the wind knocked out of him as he gasped for breath and shook uncontrollably. Peter slowly sat up, looking debauched with his hair wild and a few new hickies glowing darkly against the skin of his throat, a bit of come smeared on his lower lip.

“Oh, fuck,” Miggs groaned, staring at him and knowing he probably looked just as much like he’d had highly satisfactory honeymoon sex with his new spouse, though he probably didn’t make wild curls and sweat look as good as Peter did. Peter hummed, eyes hooded and dark, a little sleepy but mostly sated in a way Miggs had never seen him before, a distant tension that always seemed to hang around Peter dissipated for the moment.

“We have to do that again before we get off this damn boat,” Miggs mumbled and Peter paused, blinking in surprise before smirking and nodding, sliding out of bed to stretch and wave a hand at the shower. “I’m gonna lay here and remember how to breathe for a minute, you go ahead.” Miggs croaked and Peter’s smirk grew as he nodded and padded naked into the small bathroom to get the water running.

Miggs stared after him, wondering if Peter would agree to doing that again after they got off the boat and got back to Seattle, to doing  _ more _ . Miggs would give anything to see Peter look sleepy and sated and glowing post-orgasm like that every day, would even give up the safe harbor of just friends and risk their relationship crashing and burning to see Peter look at Miggs like he loved him. 


	14. Chapter 14

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> when will my plot return to me

Miggs stirred briefly when a hand slid down his side, stroking along his ribs and down to his hip, warm and soft.

“If it’s b’fore noon and you wake me up, I will shoot you,” Miggs growled, and Peter’s hand on his hip paused, uncertainly stroking at him, and Miggs grumbled, cracking one eye open to peer through the dark to check the time. The clock read nine forty AM, and he noted briefly that the curtains were drawn over the balcony door, thus the lack of light streaming into the room. Miggs groaned and rolled over, throwing an arm and a leg over Peter, who slipped his arm around Miggs’ waist with a soft rumble of interest. Miggs huffed and buried his face in Peter’s throat with a sleepy sigh, guessing Peter didn’t have his hearing aids in and thus hadn’t heard Miggs’ warning, since Peter was still letting his hands wander, clearly trying to wake Miggs up.

Miggs groaned again and used one hand to trace the number twelve against Peter’s shoulder and then  _ P-L-S _ , hoping Peter got it. Peter slowed in his groping of Miggs ass when Miggs repeated the traced message and then Peter let out a long breath, nodding. Miggs nearly melted with relief; after three days of waking up early, he just wanted to sleep in, mission or no mission.

He didn’t expect Peter, who was well-adjusted to little sleep and getting up early, to remain in bed, but when Miggs slowly stirred back into consciousness to a clock that read almost one PM, Peter’s arm was looped around Miggs’ shoulders. Miggs turned his head to see Peter laying in bed next to him, a book in his free hand.

“Hey,” Miggs mumbled, reaching up with one hand to rub the sleep out of his eyes, giving Peter a soft smile when he turned to look at Miggs. “You’re still here.” Peter blinked and nodded, the corner of his mouth quirking up as he laid the book down on his chest, reaching over to brush a couple of Miggs’ curls away from his eyes. Miggs sighed and turned to curl into Peter’s side, humming when Peter hugged him closer briefly.

And then Miggs noticed what book Peter was reading.

It was one Miggs knew, knew intimately in fact, since it was Miggs’ book. The cover was a cheesy illustration of two men back to front, the smaller’s shirt torn open to display rippling tawny skin as the taller wrapped his arms possessively around him, curling script racing over the bottom half to declare the book  _ Shrouded in an Enigma  _ by _ Theodore Bernhard _ .

_ “Hey, _ ” Miggs said again, horror and embarrassment flooding him as he reached out to try and snag the book off Peter’s chest. “That’s  _ mine! _ ” Peter grinned and quickly grabbed the book to hold it out of Miggs’ reach, thwarting Miggs’ attempt to lunge after the paperback with an elbow to his chest.

“Oh, my God, give it back!” Miggs gasped, cheeks hot with embarrassment. Peter’s grin just got bigger, shaking his head and pushing the book under his hip so Miggs couldn’t grab it before snagging his notepad and managing to scrawl a note while smacking Miggs’ hands away with his right.

**_Got bored. I’m enjoying it, at least let me finish reading the chapter. Paul is just about to seduce Michael._ **

“You’re horrible, you don’t even  _ like  _ romance, you’re just reading it to make fun of me,” Miggs growled, pushing the notepad away to try and crawl over Peter to get to his book. Peter huffed a laugh and pushed at Miggs until he managed to get him on his back, pinning his wrists to the pillow above his head as Peter threw one of his legs over Miggs’ waist to hold him down. Miggs squirmed as Peter held Miggs pinned with one hand and used the other to snag the paperback, flicking it back open and smirking as he started reading again, glancing at Miggs occasionally.

“I hate you, you’re so  _ mean, _ ” Miggs groaned, trying to wiggle his way out from under Peter, who just adjusted his hold on Miggs’ wrists with one hand and used his pinky to flip to the next page.

The book was tilted just enough that Miggs could see the beginning of the paragraph, and he blushed as he caught the words  _ Paul pinned Michael to the bed, carnal desire overtaking them both  _ before the edge of the other half of the book hid the rest.

“Oh my God,” Miggs groaned, turning his head in an effort to hide his face against the pillow, knowing full well the terrible, romanticized sex scene that came at the end of the particular chapter Peter was reading.

Peter huffed a laugh, turning his head to nuzzle against Miggs’ throat, kissing at his skin as he arched and tried to get away. Miggs gasped when Peter nipped at his skin, book lowering a little until it landed against Miggs’ shoulder.

“Wuh—what’re you doing?” Miggs gasped as Peter nipped at the skin under his ear. Peter hummed, using his thumb and pinky to spread the book open, showing Miggs the page.

_ Paul pinned Michael to the bed, carnal desire overtaking them both. Michael whimpered as Paul pressed wet kisses to his throat, leaving dark bruises on his skin. _

_ “More,” Michael moaned, lifting his hips to press the thick line of his arousal to Paul’s body. Paul reached down to touch him, palm rubbing over the bulge in his underwear. _

_ “Let me make love to you,” Paul purred into Michael’s ear, tongue tracing along the edge as he whimpered. _

_ “Yes,” Michael breathed. _

Peter lowered the book, nuzzling at Miggs’ cheek and then brushing his mouth against his ear, tongue darting out to trace along the edge until he arched. Peter hummed and then repeated the motion, sucking the lobe of Miggs’ ear into his mouth for a moment. Miggs whimpered, shaking a little when Peter growled.

“Y…yes?” Miggs panted, shuddering when Peter growled and tossed the book aside to grab Miggs with both hands, running his palms up Miggs’ ribs to his chest. Miggs arched when Peter brushed his thumbs over his nipples, causing them to peak as pleasure started to buzz over his skin.

“Nngh,” Miggs groaned when Peter dragged his tongue over his throat before sucking a bruise. Peter growled and slid the leg over Miggs’ hips across them until he was on top of him, hands sliding up Miggs’ body to pin his wrists over his head. Miggs gasped as Peter started slowly rutting against him, cock thickening in his boxers as he rolled his hips. Hesitantly, Miggs started thrusting up against Peter, bracing his heels on the bed to rub against the fork of Peter’s legs. Peter groaned, eyes going hot under the curling fringe of his hair hanging over his forehead. Miggs whimpered, biting his lip as he started frotting against Peter more desperately, panting when Peter moved to match his pace, squeezing Miggs’ wrists.

“Fuck, kiss me? Please,” Miggs gasped, arching under Peter until he leaned down to press his lips over Miggs’, tongue sliding into his mouth and making him moan. Peter pulled back after a second, breathing heavy as Miggs shuddered underneath him, feeling a little dizzy with arousal. 

“God, I love when you do that,” Miggs said, hardly aware he’d said it out loud. Peter’s cheeks darkened with a blush, a pleased smile pulling at the corners of his mouth before he leaned down to kiss Miggs again, slow and wet and earning a pathetic moan. Miggs pushed against Peter’s hold on his wrists until Peter let him go, reaching up to wrap his arms around Peter’s neck and pull him closer. Peter slipped his hands between Miggs’ back and the mattress, kissing him thoroughly as their hips slowed to a stop. Miggs barely noticed, too caught up in the slow slide and press of their mouths, in the soft gasps and whimpers coming from Peter as Miggs pulled close to kiss him more.

“Fuck,” Miggs breathed when Peter pulled back to let out a shaky breath, kissing at Miggs’ lower lip like he didn’t want to stop. “Mm, Peter.” Peter groaned, fingers digging into Miggs’ upper back slightly. Miggs arched, sliding his hands up into Peter’s hair. A soft sound of pleasure escaped Peter when Miggs tugged, rolling them onto their side. Miggs slid his knee between Peter’s thighs, rubbing up against the firm swell of his erection until he gasped against Miggs’ mouth.

Miggs pulled back to look at Peter, rubbing his knee against him a little more firmly, taking in the flush that spread over Peter’s face. Miggs bit his lip, gaze darting over Peter’s eyes, dark with need, mouth parted and swollen from their kissing.

“God, look at you,” Miggs mumbled, staring when he reached down to cup Peter’s cock with one hand, letting Peter start to rub against his palm. Peter whimpered, hips working against Miggs’ hand with a hint of uncertainty, biting his lip as Miggs encouraged him with a faint squeeze of his fingers.

“What do you want?” Miggs mumbled, rubbing his thumb against the head of Peter’s cock and making him moan. “Fuck, Peter, wanna see you come again. Please?” Peter let out a tiny, helpless sound, spreading his legs and clinging to Miggs, one hand sliding up to thread his fingers in Miggs’ hair. Miggs trembled at the pull, squeezing Peter’s cock a little harder.

“Want my hand?” Miggs panted, trying not to feel silly as he nuzzled against the side of Peter’s head to speak into his ear. “Do you want my…my mouth?” Peter whimpered, fingers tight in Miggs’ hair. “Want you to fuck me,” Miggs breathed and Peter let out a strangled noise, hips bucking up against Miggs’ hand as his cock throbbed. Peter nodded helplessly, gripping the hair at the back of Miggs’ neck and pulling hard, ducking his head to start biting at Miggs’ throat.

“O-ohh! God, fuck, you like that?” Miggs gasped, arching when Peter made a sound that came across like an affirmative. “Aaah, Peter, oh God.” Miggs moaned as Peter started bucking against him, slow and firm, sliding Miggs’ hand out of the way to start rubbing his cock against Miggs’ own erection. Peter hitched his leg higher on Miggs’ hip to hook his heel behind Miggs’ knee, dragging him in closer and rutting slowly against him.

“Peter,” Miggs breathed, arousal pulsing sweet and hot through him. “Peter, please, fuck me please?” Peter trembled, nodding again, letting go of Miggs’ hair to reach down and start pushing their underwear off. Miggs let out an eager gasp, wiggling and squirming until they were both naked and rutting together again. Miggs gasped when Peter grabbed him and rolled onto his back, pulling Miggs on top of him. Miggs whimpered and slid his arms around Peter’s neck, pressing their foreheads together as Peter spread his legs to rub up against Miggs.

“Mm, you feel so good,” Miggs mumbled, rolling his hips to thrust against the fork of Peter’s legs, a soft whimper breaking from Peter’s throat. Miggs groaned when Peter lifted his head to start kissing him, soft and slow. Miggs broke away to gasp when Peter lifted his knees, Miggs’ cock slipping down to start rubbing along Peter’s sac and then behind it, sliding along the crack of his ass.

“Ooh, touch me?” Miggs gasped, and Peter nodded, reaching down to grab Miggs’ ass, pulling him tighter with every slow thrust. Peter groaned as he pressed his cock up against Miggs, trembling as Miggs ducked his head to start kissing at his throat, sucking a bruise under the hinge of his jaw. Peter gasped, jerking under Miggs when the head of Miggs’ cock pressed against his hole.

“That’s it baby, that’s it, come on,” Miggs panted into Peter’s skin, tension starting to curl and burn in the pit of his stomach. “Come for me, Peter, please come for me, want you to come for me—” Peter gasped and lurched, hips bucking up against Miggs as he started to come, spilling wet and thick against Miggs’ lower stomach. Miggs gasped, thrusting desperately along the slick heat of Peter’s body. Peter trembled under him, hands tightening on Miggs’ ass as he whimpered desperately.

Miggs gasped when Peter leaned up to kiss him again, sucking gently at his lower lip, the tension in his body breaking when Peter moaned. Miggs cried out into Peter’s mouth as he started to come, pulsing wetly along the cleft of Peter’s ass.

Breathing hard, Miggs collapsed on Peter’s chest, body shaking with the aftermath of orgasm. Peter moaned softly, rubbing his hands up and down Miggs’ body, making him shiver.

“Fuck,” Miggs breathed, feeling light-headed and weak. “So good.” Peter hummed, sounding a little out of it himself, kissing softly at Miggs’ cheek and temple.

After a minute, Miggs let out a long breath, brain coming back online after the intense rush of lust and desperate rutting. A bit of fear and embarrassment began to crawl over his skin as he realized he’d made Peter have sex with him again, shame flushing him.

“I…um.” Miggs pulled back to look at Peter, blushing at the vulnerable, flushed look of his husband under him, covered in a thin sheen of sweat and come splattered over his stomach. “Fuck.” Peter’s mouth quirked up into a smirk, reaching up with one hand to pull Miggs down into a kiss. Miggs relaxed after a moment, hoping Peter didn’t resent him too much as he squirmed against him, arousal melting into something softer, warmer, like a candle burning in his chest.

“Mmm, Peter,” Miggs sighed, struggling not to call Peter anything he wouldn’t want to hear. Bad enough Miggs had started calling him  _ baby.  _ At least Peter hadn’t seemed to hear it, or maybe just not minded.

Peter hummed, kissing along the line of Miggs’ jaw, making him arch.

“Ohhh,” Miggs groaned when Peter’s hands tightened on his ass, pulling him close again, cock twitching against Miggs’ stomach. “Again? Mm, please say yes.” Peter groaned and nodded, rolling them over to slide between Miggs’ legs, hands cupping his knees to push them up and apart. Miggs arched under Peter as he lifted his legs to start kissing down his chest, mouthing at the raised peaks of his nipples.

And then Peter’s phone buzzed loudly, making them both jump. Peter stared at him until Miggs blinked, shooting a glance to where Peter’s phone was.

“Uh,” he said after a second. “Do you need to get that?” Peter paused and then nodded with a grimace, rolling off Miggs and reaching out to snag his phone and slide it open.

“What is it?” Miggs asked, rolling to curl up behind Peter and peer over his shoulder.

**Report in, Agent P.** The screen read, the sent by panel informing Miggs it was from Hoffman.

“Duty calls,” Miggs murmured, and Peter sighed, nodding again before setting the phone aside and rolling over to press Miggs back against the mattress and kiss him, wet and thorough and slow. When he pulled back, Miggs stared dazedly up at him.

“Oh,” Miggs huffed, and Peter smirked before rolling out of bed and digging around in one of the drawers to pull out his laptop. After a minute Miggs sighed and slid out of bed as well, wiping a hand through the mess on his stomach from Peter’s orgasm.

“I need a shower,” Miggs said, glancing back to see Peter laying on his stomach, typing on his laptop. Miggs smirked and leaned over the bed to playfully grope at Peter’s ass, fingers sliding through the mess of come he’d left on him. “So do you.” Peter jumped and Miggs blushed when Peter turned to look at him.

“Um. Not okay?” Miggs asked, hesitantly letting go. Peter bit his lip and then shrugged, awkwardly turning back to his computer as Miggs pulled his hand away, embarrassment curling in the pit of his stomach. 

“Sorry,” Miggs said after a second, wiping his hand on the blanket as Peter looked up from his computer to stare at him. “I didn’t mean to—go too far.” Peter shook his head, abandoning his laptop to sit up and reach out, grabbing Miggs’ wrist and pulling at him until he managed to drag Miggs from the edge of the bed and into his lap, pulling him into a gentle hug. Miggs held carefully still, flushing at the feel of Peter’s naked, come and sweat-tacky body pressed against his own. After a minute, he gradually relaxed, wrapping his arms around Peter and holding him back. Peter hummed, rocking him slightly, adjusting his hold so they could sprawl on the mattress, tangled together with Miggs laying on top of Peter, head pillowed on Peter’s chest as Peter petted at his wild hair. 

“Peter—” Miggs began, but was swiftly interrupted by Peter’s computer ringing demandingly with a video call.

Peter sat up suddenly, slipping out of Miggs' grasp and nearly dumping him out of Peter’s lap, the arm around Miggs’ waist the only thing preventing Peter from sending him sprawling back.

“What—what’s that?” Miggs stammered, turning his head to stare at the screen and freezing at the O.W.C.A. logo blinking there. “Oh, you’re in trouble.” Peter scowled at him, letting go of Miggs to grab the blanket and wrap it around them to preserve their decency. Then he leaned over to answer the call, screen tilted so Miggs was mostly out of frame.

_ “Agent P! There had better be a VERY good reason for—”  _ Hoffman’s voice came through the speakers, stern and quietly furious before choking off with a surprised sound. “ _ Are you NAKED? _ ” she demanded, and after a long pause, Peter nodded with a grimace. Miggs peeked past Peter’s arm to see Hoffman peering through the screen, adjusting a pair of reading glasses on her nose with a faint air of horrified disbelief.

_ “Is that—Professor, are you also naked?”  _ she stammered, and Miggs gave an awkward wave from over Peter’s arm.

“Hello,” he said weakly, half cowering behind Peter as she stared at them.

_ “Are…are you two… _ involved?” Hoffman asked after a long minute of mutual awkward staring. Peter hesitated, and that made Miggs hesitate as well, turning to look at Peter, who tilted his head to stare back at Miggs, looking uncertain.

“I…” Miggs locked eyes with Peter, taking in the faint flush on his skin, the sheen of sweat and the hickies, wild bedhead and his eyes still dark, betraying an enthusiasm to their fake marriage that suddenly made Miggs unsure if it really  _ was  _ all that fake. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> also im not feeling v good today so its more than possible i missed some [brackets] for editing or grammar/spelling errors so if you spot any, please do point them out so i can fix them <3 
> 
> also if y'all aren't reading [Never Felt Like This Before](http://archiveofourown.org/works/6729724) by my lovely beta and friend Doc, ur makin a mistake and should hop on over there and leave some love on it bc it's amazing; if you like HYP you'll _really_ like NFLTB, I promise. It's slow burn text buddies AU *u*


	15. Chapter 15

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm not sorry for the cliffie last chapter :3c

An awkward thread of silence followed Hoffman’s question, and Miggs found himself staring at Peter, trying to figure out what to say.

_Are you two…involved?_

O.W.C.A. was vaguely aware of their friendship, Miggs was fairly certain. He also knew O.W.C.A. had been informed they’d be needing a divorce when they got back, but he doubted O.W.C.A. thought they’d consummated on purpose. Which they hadn’t, Miggs reminded himself. The first time had been an accident, getting just carried away enough that it resulted in a couple orgasms, and that was the sort of situation that didn’t allow for take-backsies.

Every time after, though, Miggs knew that he, at least, had gone to bed with Peter with full intent to have sex with him if he could, and that certainly counted as _involvement_ to O.W.C.A., the kind that could prove dangerous if they thought Miggs, a villain, was emotionally or physically compromising one of their top agents.

“No, of course not,” Miggs said after a minute, looking away when Peter’s mouth snapped shut, lips pressing into a thin line at his words. “Didn’t Peter tell you that they’re filming the beds? We’ve had to fake—y’know, stuff, so we don’t stick out.”

Hoffman peered at them through the screen, mouth pursing in suspicion. _“I was aware. Agent P also informed me that you were forced to consummate under these circumstances. But I trust no…_ complications _are arising from this?”_ Miggs forced his hand on Peter’s arm to stay relaxed instead of gripping tight like he wanted to. Things had been complicated long before they’d started having sex; Hoffman was a bit behind the curve if she thought Peter and Miggs’ relationship had ever been simple.

“No, none,” Miggs said, trying his damnedest to sound sincere. “It’s all for the mission. Peter’s too good an Agent to risk anything else, have a little faith.” Miggs rolled his eyes and paused when Peter shifted uncomfortably next to him, the corner of his mouth twitching into a grimace that was too faint for Hoffman to notice over a video call.

“ _It’s not Agent P I don’t have faith in,_ ” Hoffman retorted. “ _Agent, I expect you to be turning in your reports on time, understood? This situation is too delicate for slip ups._ ” Peter nodded, and Hoffman shot them both a sharp glare before the window blinked closed as she hung up, and Miggs let out a tense breath, flopping onto his back to stare up at the ceiling.

“I hate undercover work,” he announced, and Peter snorted, shutting his laptop and sliding out of bed without looking at Miggs. “So what are we doing today?” Peter hummed, looking around for a minute before finding his notepad and picking it up to scrawl a note. He tossed it onto the bed for Miggs to grab as Peter gathered clothes to put on after showering away the evidence of their earlier activities.

Miggs rolled onto his stomach to snag the pad and spin it around so he could read it.

**_Should look into the Barlow couple. If they are from another agency, wouldn’t do to cross hairs further in the mission, it’d be bad all around. Need to find out if they’re friend or foe, or if they’re just regular ppl that put off the wrong vibe around the Kellers._ **

Miggs nodded, looking up to see that Peter was already in the bathroom, the sound of the shower reaching him a second later. Frowning, Miggs set the notepad aside and crawled out of bed, grabbing his own clothes to follow Peter.

“Can I come in?” Miggs asked hesitantly, knocking his fingers against the shower door. Peter was acting a little weird; Miggs couldn’t quite put his finger on what it was, but something felt off. “Peter?” After a minute Peter popped the shower door open, and Miggs slipped inside, flushing at the sight of Peter naked and soaking wet, shampoo leaving foamy trails down from his hair. Biting his lip, Miggs pressed close to Peter so he could start washing away the come and sweat clinging to his skin, noticing after a minute that Peter was looking anywhere but at him.

“What the fuck, Peter,” Miggs said when Peter groped blindly along the shower caddy to find soap rather than turn his head slightly to use his eyes. Peter paused and then tilted his head a little, the one eyebrow Miggs could see lifting slightly.

“Why…” Miggs paused and then cleared his throat, reaching hesitantly for Peter before pulling back, unsure what to do with his hands all of a sudden. “Why won’t you look at me?” Peter sighed after a second and then turned his head to face him, but his eyes slid off to the side, still not looking at Miggs.

“Peter,” Miggs said, awkwardly folding his hands over his stomach and looking down, catching sight of Peter’s body, slicked with water and soap and so tempting, and not his to touch despite being right there.

“I…I’m sorry.” Miggs said, voice a little strangled, staring down at the water swirling down the drain around their feet. Peter went still and then made an inquisitive sound and Miggs sighed, reaching up to push his hair out of his face, curls starting to droop and drip from the spray of water.

“I didn’t…I know I’m…fucking up all over the place,” Miggs said after a second, not looking up and struggling against the sudden urge to cry. “But I…I’m…fuck.” Miggs pressed the heel of one hand against his left eye, trying to figure out how to tell Peter he was in love with him without ruining everything.

Miggs twitched when Peter hesitantly reached out before pulling back, uncertainty making his fingers shake visibly. Miggs looked up to see Peter staring at him, biting his lip.

“Peter.” Miggs heart leapt into his throat and before he could think better of it he stepped forward and slipped his arms around Peter’s waist, lifting his head to nuzzle into Peter’s throat. Peter let out a soft sound as Miggs started pressing kisses to the underside of Peter’s jaw.

“I’m sorry,” Miggs mumbled into Peter’s skin, a tremble starting to run through him as Peter stood very still. Peter groaned softly and then wrapped his arms around Miggs, hands sliding up Miggs’ back and pulling him in closer. Miggs shivered and wrapped his arms around Peter’s neck, fingers slipping up into Peter’s hair which was slick and heavy with shampoo.

Miggs pressed against Peter, mouth roaming up his throat to kiss along his jaw and cheek to his mouth, sliding one soapy hand from Peter’s hair to his face, pulling him into a kiss. Peter clutched at him and kissed him back, wavering between soft, trembling presses of his mouth and desperate, hungry ones that made Miggs whimper loudly, tangling his fingers in Peter’s beard. Miggs tried not to think too hard about which type of kiss Peter was faking. Miggs squirmed against Peter, clinging tight to him until Peter slipped a little and then fell against the wall of the shower, Miggs’ hands grabbing at Peter’s shoulders.

“Please—” Miggs gasped, clinging close and hoping Peter wouldn’t push him away. “Peter, I _want_ you.” Peter trembled under his hands, gripping Miggs hips and turning his head away, not looking at Miggs. Miggs paused, staring at Peter as his heart sank.

“I…Peter?” Miggs said, voice weak and hardly audible over the water. Peter blew out a long breath and looked down, thumbs rubbing haltingly against Miggs’ hips. Miggs slowly slid his hands down to rest over Peter’s chest, fingers of his right hand pressed over Peter’s heart. Miggs could feel it racing through Peter’s skin, and Miggs swallowed weakly, blinking droplets of water clear of his eyes.

“I…I’m gonna…get out,” Miggs said after a long minute of Peter not looking at him, flushed and shaking faintly. Peter looked up at that, mouth falling open a little as Miggs stepped back, not caring that he hadn’t really gotten clean.

Miggs climbed out of the shower, feeling a strange combination of numbness and knotted shame in his guts, wondering how he’d managed to ruin the best relationship in his life in just a few days.

Shivering uncontrollably as he yanked clean clothes on over his damp skin, Miggs tried to sort through the mess of anxiety and shame tying his stomach into knots. He’d clearly fucked up, and bad. Peter didn’t want to look at him, was obviously conflicted about touching him anymore. Miggs wondered if Peter had seen through his lie to Hoffman, had realized that Miggs was in love with him, and was uncomfortable with the knowledge. After all, Miggs knew Peter didn’t really date. He went out, had fun, got laid, but never pursued relationships that ever moved beyond fuck-buddy status. Thinking he might want to actually _be_ with Miggs had been a foolish hope, to say the least.

Blowing out a breath, Miggs ran a hand up into his curls, grimacing at the half-wet mess tangled on top of his head. Not much he could do about it now, unless he wanted to climb back into the shower with a husband that was uncomfortable being within a few feet of him.

Squeezing as much moisture out of his hair as he could with one hand and a small towel, Miggs remembered Peter’s earlier note, and wondered how they were supposed to get the Barlows to admit whether or not they were secret agents without revealing their own cover in the process.

Miggs was still contemplating it when Peter emerged from the bathroom, fully dressed and unfairly good-looking next to Miggs’ scraggly and damp self, glasses perched on his nose and eyes looking anywhere but Miggs.

Miggs watched Peter fiddle with his shirt cuffs for a minute, seeming oddly shy and uncertain as he alternated between straightening and rolling up the cuffs like he couldn’t decide which to go with. Miggs stared, catching Peter glancing up at him once before color bloomed in Peter’s cheeks and he looked away again, mouth twitching into a bit of a grimace.

“So we’re gonna go find the Barlow women?” Miggs asked awkwardly after a minute, picking up Peter’s notepad to show it to him. Peter paused, looking up and nodding, cheeks still a little flushed as he reached out to take the pad from Miggs and tuck it into his back pocket. “Where do we start?” Peter looked thoughtful before walking to the TV, using his watch to hook up to the Kellers’ system again.

Miggs came up next to him, looking down at the screen in time to see Peter searching for the Barlow’s assigned cabin, which was on deck four.

“Do you think they’d be in there right now?” Miggs asked, and Peter shrugged, fiddling with the watch to bring up the security system, frowning as he pinched a couple of the buttons on the side of his watchface. The screen started flicking through footage rapidly, from the security cameras Miggs guessed, a gray box zooming in on faces before turning red and flicking to a new one. After a few minutes the square turned green and blinked a few times, framing a woman sitting at a bar, scowling down into her drink. Miggs recognized it as Andrea Barlow, the sturdier and more stoic of the two women he remembered from the elevator. Miggs frowned after a second, noting that she was at the bar by herself.

“Where’s her wife?” Miggs asked and Peter hummed, sounding curious as he started the program searching again, eventually finding Leslie Barlow sitting in a lounge chair by a pool, cheery pink bikini a sharp contrast to her glum expression. “They don’t look like they’re having a very good time, for a couple on their honeymoon.” Peter nodded, rubbing at his chin thoughtfully before disconnecting from the TV to pull out his notepad.

**_May have had a fight, may be having less luck with their mission, depending if they’re just a normal couple or like us._ **

Miggs nodded, frowning when Peter turned the pad back around to write another note.

**_Need to talk to them both. Better to have them separated anyway, easier to catch in a lie. Should split up._ **

“Easier to catch us in a lie that way, too,” Miggs pointed out and Peter’s mouth twitched up into a smile, glancing up to meet Miggs’ eyes as his cheeks darkened a little more, quickly looking down again to write another note.

**_I think we know each other well enough to convince any agent I know. Just keep it simple, only lies have details._ **

Miggs blew out a breath and then nodded.

**_You talk to Andrea. I’ll take Leslie. You tend to rub bubbly people like her the wrong way._ **

“Only because they tend to be annoying,” Miggs muttered, startling a short huff of laughter from Peter. Miggs’ stomach fluttered with pleasure at the sound, mouth curling into a shy smile when Peter met his gaze again. Peter smiled back, fond and soft, affectionate in a way that made Miggs’ fear that their friendship wouldn’t survive this mission lessen a little.

Peter turned back to the drawers to grab his swimsuit, pulling a small tote bag out of his duffel to fold them into to carry along with a superficial bottle of sunscreen from the bathroom. They left the cabin, Peter locking the door behind them before they started walking for the stairs. Miggs hesitantly reached out to take Peter’s hand after a second, relief making his knees a little weak when Peter twitched in surprise before threading their fingers together, a smile tugging at the corners of his mouth when Miggs glanced at him from the corner of his eye.

Emerging onto the main deck, Miggs paused, glancing in the direction of the bar Andrea was at before looking at Peter. Peter was looking at him as well, face schooled into a neutral expression.

“I’ll text you?” Miggs said after a second, and Peter nodded, reaching down to pat his pocket where his phone was. Miggs nodded too, letting go of Peter’s hand when he pulled away. “Hey.” Peter paused, turning to face him again, one eyebrow lifting when Miggs hesitated, nerves making his stomach knot up for a second.

“No kiss?” Miggs said after a second, trying for playful and hitting weak and a little disappointed instead. Peter blinked and then flushed, mouth twitching into a shy smile before stepping closer and reaching out to pull Miggs in. Miggs wrapped his arms around Peter’s neck and drew him into a kiss, letting out a soft sound of pleasure when Peter kissed him back, soft and with a brief nip at his lower lip. Miggs pulled Peter back into another when Peter tried to pull away, inciting a surprised grunt before Peter clutched at him and kissed him harder, sucking Miggs’ lower lip into his mouth briefly as they clung to each other.

Miggs eventually had to pull back to breathe, feeling a little dazed and flushed and wondering what it would take to have Peter kiss him like that every day.

Blinking the stars out of his eyes, Miggs looked up at Peter, heart skipping a beat at the look on Peter’s face, a sort of carefully controlled hunger, gaze darting to the stairs. A touch of arousal curled in the pit of Miggs’ stomach at the thought of returning to their cabin to fulfill that hunger, but he firmly reminded himself that they were on this boat to complete Peter’s mission, not so Miggs could keep Peter in bed all day and take advantage of him.

“Um. Yeah. Anyway,” Miggs managed after a second, and Peter hummed, slowly letting go as Miggs pulled back. “I’ll go talk to Andrea, yeah?” Peter nodded, jerking his thumb over his shoulder before giving him a thumbs up.

After separating, Miggs made his way to the _Rose Thorn Bar_ , a small breath of relief escaping him when he saw Andrea was still there, a fresh drink in front of her. The little paper umbrella from it was slowly being shredded by her fingers as she stared off into space.

Sliding into a seat a couple down from her, Miggs wondered how the hell he was supposed to start a conversation with her as he waved the bartender over. Miggs wasn’t a people person at the best of times, let alone the sort to strike up small talk with strangers until he was able to get information out of them.

Awkwardly poking at his drink when the bartender set it in front of him, Miggs briefly thought about what Peter would do. Flirt, probably. But Miggs wasn’t very good at flirting, and then he was supposed to be pretending to be a happy honeymooner anyway; flirting with a woman at a bar would be a tad out of character. And then there was the fact that Miggs didn’t even _like_ women to begin with.

Blowing out a frustrated breath, Miggs put his head down on the bar, wishing he’d asked Peter what the hell he was supposed to say to Andrea Barlow to get her to tell him if she was also a secret agent or not.

“Bad day?”

Miggs looked up to see Andrea Barlow watching him, dark eyes half-lidded over her blunt nose and full mouth, which was set in a firm line, expression a cross between bored and skeptical.

“What makes you think that,” Miggs said, trying not to tense up with nerves.

“Well,” Andrea said, poking at the ice in her glass with her straw, “usually, when I sit down at a bar and order a drink, and then immediately put my head down, it’s not because I’m drunk.” Miggs paused at the dry humor in her words despite her flat expression.

“Sort of,” Miggs said at last, sitting up to poke at his own drink, frowning. “Andrea, right?” He glanced back at her, catching her surprised blink before a slow nod and narrowing of her hooded eyes. “We met in the elevator, first day. After check in.” Her mouth pursed and then recognition flickered over her features.

“M…something,” she said, shoulders hunching a little with awkwardness. “Sorry. I’m not good with names.”

“Miggs,” he supplied, shrugging.

“Call me Andy,” she said, lifting a couple fingers from her straw before dropping them again when Miggs nodded.

“Where’s your wife?” Miggs asked awkwardly after a second, knowing full well that Leslie Barlow was at the pool, probably being charmed by Peter by now. Andy’s expression darkened a little and she blew out a breath before shrugging.

“Around here somewhere, I guess,” she replied after a minute, stirring the ice in her cup thoughtfully. “I know it’s our honeymoon and all but I get…twitchy. I need my space sometimes. She gets that.” Her mouth twitched up into a brief smile before flattening again, glancing at him. “Where’s your bear of a husband, then?”

“Went swimming,” Miggs said, shrugging. “I don’t like water.”

“And you went on a week long ocean cruise for your honeymoon?” Andy asked, lifting a thick eyebrow when Miggs hunched over.

“I’m not getting _in_ the ocean, you notice,” he grumbled, catching a short look of amusement on her face. Miggs relaxed a little, thinking that maybe, just maybe, he might be able to do this.


	16. Chapter 16

After chatting for a while, Miggs decided that unless Andy was a  _ very  _ good actor, she wasn’t likely to be any sort of agent from any agency, affiliated with O.W.C.A. or no.

Other than that, she seemed like a normal, if a bit awkward and gruff, lesbian woman who was on her honeymoon.

“So why are  _ you  _ drinking at five in the afternoon?” Andy asked after shifting to the seat next to Miggs, her cheeks warmed a bit by the alcohol but dark eyes clear and sharp. Miggs paused and shrugged, staring down at his own drink and wishing he hadn’t drank so much of it; it was harder to think of a lie when his brain was fogged by liquor and his feelings for Peter.

“I…” Miggs paused and grimaced. “It’s complicated.”

Andy snorted, making the ice in her glass rattle as she set it back down. “What isn’t?” she said, the corner of her mouth twitching up in amusement before smoothing out again.

“I thought love was supposed to be easy,” Miggs muttered bitterly, slouching forward in his seat a little.

“Trouble with your husband, then?” she asked after a minute, and Miggs shrugged. “Wanna talk about it? Leslie says it helps.” Andy lifted one shoulder in half a shrug as well. “Or you could just drink yourself stupid and hope it resolves itself.” Miggs let out a groan and leaned forward again until his forehead pressed against the bar.

“He doesn’t want to be married to me,” Miggs finally admitted. “He’s not really one for… _commitment_.”

“Funny that he married you then,” Andy said, sipping innocently at her drink when Miggs turned his head to glare at her. “Did you threaten him unless he married you or something?”

“No, he…he asked me,” Miggs mumbled, sitting up to run his fingers into his curling hair.

“Then why would you think he doesn’t want to be married to you?” Andy snorted.

“I…I don’t fucking know,” Miggs groaned, pressing his hands over his face. “Look, it’s more complicated than that, I just…I don’t think he wants me, that’s all.” Miggs pushed his empty glass away for the bartender to take as she passed, scowling down at the smooth wood of the bar.

A large hand pressed against the small of Miggs’ back, making him jump before he turned to see Peter, a small smile curling at the corners of his mouth.

“Oh,” Miggs said, embarrassment and fear pooling in the pit of his stomach as he wondered how much Peter had heard.

Miggs let out a surprised sound when Peter leaned forward and kissed him, soft and slow, his other hand coming up to cup Miggs’ jaw and keep him from pulling away. Miggs reached out blindly as Peter kept kissing him, sucking gently at his lower lip as Miggs tangled his fingers in the front of Peter’s shirt, which was only half buttoned.

Peter pulled back after a minute, leaving Miggs feeling dazed and flushed.

“I dunno, looks like he wants you to me,” Andy muttered from behind Miggs, and Miggs flushed deeper when Peter hummed and leaned in to kiss Miggs again briefly before nuzzling at his cheek and his throat to kiss softly at the skin there. 

“I thought you were with—I mean, at the pool?” Miggs mumbled, tilting his head back as Peter pressed closer, sliding his arm around Miggs’ waist and kissing at his throat. Peter hummed again in a vaguely affirmative way, making Miggs shiver.

“Andy!” Miggs blinked as Leslie Barlow bounced her way past Miggs and Peter to slide to a stop next to her wife, wet hair clinging to her neck and shoulders above the straps of her bikini top.

Andy hummed and turned on her stool to reach out and hold Leslie at arms distance.

“No, you’re all wet,” Andy said bluntly, prompting her wife to pout before shooting Andy a smirk.

“I thought you  _ liked  _ it when I’m—”

“Stop,” Andy groaned, the corner of her mouth twitching with amusement despite her tone. Leslie grinned and leaned in to drop a kiss on Andy’s mouth before grabbing her hands to pull her off the stool. 

“It was nice chatting with you, Peter,” Leslie sing-songed as she started tugging Andy away from the bar, mouth curled wickedly in a way that made Miggs blush a little.

Peter waved with one hand before sliding it into Miggs’ hair to tilt his head to kiss up the line of his throat, nibbling just enough to make him gasp.

After the Barlows left, Miggs squirmed a little as Peter kept kissing at his throat, both arms slipping around Miggs to hold him close.

“P-Peter?” Miggs stammered, hesitantly reaching up to wrap his arms around Peter’s shoulders. Peter lifted his head, looking a little pink in the cheeks with a smile tugging at his mouth, eyes a little narrowed, like he couldn’t quite understand what he was seeing on Miggs’ face.

“Um,” Miggs managed, biting his lip before leaning in to brush a soft kiss over Peter’s mouth, mumbling between presses of his mouth to Peter’s. “Find anything out with Leslie?” Peter paused and then shrugged, slowly tugging at Miggs until he slid out of his seat to land on his feet in front of Peter.

Miggs let Peter pull him away from the bar and along the deck of the ship to the stairwell and then down to their floor. They paused to let another couple pass through the door to the stairs, Peter’s hand wandering down from the small of Miggs’ back to his ass as they stood aside, pinching enough to make Miggs jump and blush. After the couple passed, Peter pulled Miggs down the hall to their cabin. Peter quickly shouldered the door open and pulled Miggs inside before shutting it again.

Miggs gasped when Peter turned to back Miggs up against the door, ducking down to start kissing Miggs’ throat, hands sliding down Miggs’ arms to his hands. Miggs moaned and squirmed when Peter wrapped his fingers around Miggs’ wrists to lift his arms above his head and pin his hands there. Miggs arched as Peter nuzzled into his throat, nipping a little at the skin and giving him a bit of beard burn to accompany his adornment of hickies.

“P-Peter?” Miggs gasped, head spinning with sudden arousal and confusion. There weren’t any cameras on the door of the cabin, there was no reason for Peter to touch him like this here unless he  _ wanted  _ to, unless he wanted  _ Miggs. _

_ I don’t think he wants me. _

Miggs stiffened as the horrible, creeping suspicion that Peter was only doing this because he knew Miggs wanted it took root in his head and blossomed there like a bright, poisonous flower.

Peter was Miggs’ best friend, and vice versa. They were also nemeses, but first and foremost they’d always been friends. And Miggs liked to think he knew Peter, at least knew him well enough that he took comfort in being one of the few people to see past Peter’s cold Panda persona.

And Miggs knew that Peter cared about him, at least as a friend. That Peter enjoyed his companionship, even if he’d never  _ really  _ opened up to Miggs unless he’d been forced to.

Miggs didn’t want to think that Peter would willingly enter into a sexual relationship with Miggs just because he pitied him.

“Peter,” Miggs rasped, and Peter went still as well, fingers tight around Miggs’ wrists, mouth pressed to skin, half an erection pressed into Miggs’ own thickening cock. A tremor ran through Miggs’ body, and Peter quickly let go, stepping back and looking confused and concerned. Miggs struggled to get himself under control, part of him wanting to pathetically take advantage of Peter’s pity and drag him to bed, the rest of him feeling vaguely dirty and disgusted with himself.

“Um,” Miggs said after a minute, staring at Peter’s sandals (where had he even gotten sandals?) rather than look him in the face. “Did…uh, did you find anything out with…Leslie?” Peter didn’t move for a long minute, and Miggs didn’t dare look up until Peter pulled out his notepad to start writing. Miggs regretted looking up as soon as he did; Peter had his agent face on, blank and calm, with the faintest edge to it, like a razor blade just starting to slice through silk.

Peter turned the notepad around after a second to show Miggs, handwriting neat and blocky across the lines.

**_Nothing concrete. I think she may have had some training as an agent or possibly some form of law enforcement, but I don’t think she’s up to anything now except enjoying her vacation. A little unhappy her wife doesn’t want to spend 24/7 in bed, but otherwise nothing wrong with her relationship that I could tell._ **

“Ah,” Miggs said after a second, nodding. “Okay. Andy didn’t seem to be weird, either. I mean, other than being a bit socially awkward.” Peter gave a short nod before turning the pad around again.

**_However I did notice that several patrons are acting oddly, almost as though they’ve been drugged. Lethargic, confused, forgetful, a little twitchy. Several of them talked about the spa when I eavesdropped. That place is looking more and more like what we’re after._ **

“So we’ll go check out the spa?” Miggs asked weakly, and Peter nodded before quickly scrawling another note.

**_Not tonight. They’re open 24 hours except on the 5th night of the cruise for maintenance. We’ll go in late that day and scope it out before sneaking back in._ **

“And by ‘scope out’ you mean…?” Miggs asked hesitantly.

**_Get a massage, of course. Find out what they’re doing to everyone on the ship. Anything too suspicious comes up, claim an allergy or something to avoid getting dosed._ **

Miggs swallowed weakly and nodded. “So what do we do for the next two days while we wait for the maintenance night?” Peter shrugged, pushing his pen behind one ear and turning away from Miggs to set the notepad on a shelf and kick his sandals off. Miggs tried not to stare at Peter too much while his back was turned, shame making his stomach churn.

Miggs didn’t want Peter to even look at him with pity, let alone sleep with him out of it. It made Miggs a little sick-feeling to know he was almost weak enough to let it happen anyway. 

Peter blew out a frustrated breath and then snatched up his notepad, grabbing his pen from his ear to start writing furiously before stopping and scribbling for a second and then starting again. Miggs watched him start and scratch out several sentences with his back to Miggs, a frustrated growl reaching Miggs as Peter seemed to fail to find the right words to express himself.

“Just spit it out, Peter,” Miggs snapped after nearly a minute of it, and Peter paused, letting out a long breath before writing one short sentence on a fresh page and then turning just enough to push the notepad at Miggs.

**_If u don’t want me to I won’t, but I’d rly like to spend some time touching u rn._ **

Miggs blinked, mouth falling a little slack before glancing up at Peter, whose cheeks flushed a bit as he watched.

“Um…is it…is it because of what I said at…at the bar?” Miggs asked weakly, eyes sliding away from Peter with embarrassment. “Because—because it’s  _ okay  _ that you don’t want me or-or want to be m-married, I mean, it is all just for show, so I  _ understand,  _ but I—I really—” Miggs stammered to a stop as Peter started shaking his head, waving one hand in Miggs’ line of sight to catch his attention. Peter took the notepad from Miggs, flipping through it until he found a page several half dozen sheets back, using his pen to circle one of his previous statements and then turning it to show Miggs.

**_I LIKE touching u. Don’t want to make U uncomfortable._ **

Miggs stared and then bit his lip, glancing up at Peter. 

“I like you touching me maybe a little too much,” he whispered and Peter’s agent face seemed to slide off his features almost instantly, a dark hunger turning his eyes hot and making Miggs’ breath catch. Peter jotted another note, barely looking down to do so before showing it to Miggs.

**_Tell me._ **

Miggs froze, a strangling sensation in his throat making him wheeze a bit as he frantically tried to figure out what Peter meant. Tell him how he liked to be touched? Tell him how he liked Peter touching him too much?

Tell him how he was in love with Peter?

“I…I…” Miggs panted, fear making his heart pound as Peter stared at him, gaze raking down Miggs’ body before dragging back up to meet his eyes again. “I lo…love…” It felt like someone was squeezing his heart, like his lungs were full of pins and needles, every breath catching and dragging with a rasp of terror through a throat that felt thick and closed up. Peter’s eyes sharpened at the words, and cowardice dragged Miggs into weakly saying, “Love when you t-touch me.” Peter’s gaze stopped looking so much like laser beams at that, but the heat remained, lowering the pad to the narrow couch before slowly prowling forward to press Miggs flat against the door again.

“Oh,” Miggs gasped when Peter leaned down to bump his nose against Miggs’ and then turn slightly with a wry smile to brush his mouth against Miggs’ lips. Miggs let out a small whimper at that and Peter growled, sliding his hands down Miggs’ body to grab his hips.

Miggs made a tiny, embarrassing sound when Peter pushed his thigh between Miggs’ legs (it was  _ not  _ a squeak, it wasn’t), lifting his knee to rub gently against the fork of his legs. A grin flickered over Peter’s mouth when Miggs hesitantly started rolling his hips, slow and stuttering, uncertainty making him tremble. Peter broke the kiss to lean in and mouth his way up Miggs’ throat, nipping at the lobe of his ear before letting out a soft moan when Miggs dragged his hips up the line of Peter’s thigh. Miggs gritted his teeth against a helpless groan as Peter started letting out small, breathless sounds of pleasure, his hands on Miggs’ hips urging him into riding Peter’s thigh eagerly until Miggs grabbed onto Peter’s shoulders to steady himself, up on his toes as he rutted against Peter.

Miggs head was spinning with the heady knowledge that Peter still wanted him, still wanted to touch him, liked touching him, was getting off on Miggs rubbing against him going by the thick erection pressed against Miggs’ hip every time he brought their lower bodies closer together. Miggs shuddered when Peter lifted his leg a little more, nearly lifting Miggs off the ground and making him cry out at the harsh pressure against his groin, still trying to rub against Peter’s hip. Peter laughed breathlessly, kissing at the soft skin under Miggs’ ear and making him arch.

“P-Peter, please,” Miggs begged, resolve breaking as Peter’s hands wandered under Miggs’ shirt, brushing against his bare skin and leaving tingling patches of sensation in their wake.

Peter hummed, pressing wet kisses to Miggs’ neck before lowering his knee again so Miggs could stand on his own, letting out a grunt of surprise when Miggs threw himself against Peter. They stumbled a little but ended up landing on the couch with Miggs on top of Peter, which had more or less been the goal.

Peter gasped when Miggs managed to gather enough of his wits to straddle Peter and brace his right foot against the ground, leaning down to cup Peter’s face and start kissing him hungrily.

_ “ _T_ ouch  _ me,” Miggs demanded between kisses, arching when Peter immediately obeyed, hands coming up to pet at Miggs’ hips, one sliding up his spine to the back of his neck, fingers tangling in Miggs’ curls as the other grabbed his ass, squeezing and pulling to encourage Miggs into rocking against Peter, rubbing against Peter’s erection through their clothes. Miggs moaned into Peter’s mouth and Peter arched under him, bracing one foot against the edge of the narrow couch to thrust up against Miggs’ crotch, nearly dislodging him and making Miggs clutch at Peter’s shoulders to stay in place.

“God,” Miggs gasped, clinging to Peter as desire throbbed hot and tingling in the pit of his stomach. “I want more, please Peter, please!” Peter whimpered under him and nodded, hands groping at Miggs as he started kissing down Peter’s throat, fingers fumbling with the front of his shirt until he got it open and pulled it apart so he could drag his mouth down Peter's front. Peter moaned when Miggs nipped at him, sucking a bruise to Peter’s skin near his collarbone. Peter arched as Miggs slid down Peter’s body, knocking his foot from its perch on the couch to end up between Peter’s legs, kissing along the waistband of his pants.

Miggs squirmed with the knowledge that this was the first time they were going to fuck without cameras filming them, without telling themselves it was for show or just an accident, just getting carried away with the show. This time was because they wanted to, and the thought nearly made Miggs fear coming in his pants with excitement.

“Wanna suck you off,” Miggs mumbled against the button of Peter’s trousers, wondering if Peter could even hear him over his own heavy breathing. The moan he produced made Miggs assume he could, so Miggs grinned a little wickedly up at Peter when he pushed himself up onto one elbow to look down at where Miggs was teasing him. Miggs slid a hand up along Peter’s erection, palming him and squeezing just hard enough to make Peter bite his lip. 

Peter nodded after a second and Miggs undid Peter’s button and fly with fingers that only shook a little, tugging at the sides of Peter’s pants until he managed to tug them down enough to pull Peter’s cock free of his underwear. Peter dropped his head back and groaned as soon as Miggs wrapped his hand around his length, another moan sounding deep and guttural when Miggs started stroking, slow as he swiped his thumb over the silky head.

“Like that?” Miggs asked, watching as Peter awkwardly nodded and made a vaguely affirmative sound, hips lifting up into Miggs’ touch to enforce the sentiment. Licking his lips, Miggs leaned down to slowly slip his mouth over the tip of Peter’s dick, earning a breathless whimper as reward when he started to lightly suck.

Peter lifted one hand to press his fist against his mouth as Miggs gradually slid down his length to about halfway, hand wrapped around what wouldn’t easily fit into his mouth. Saliva dripped along Peter’s shaft as Miggs started to bob his head and work his fist, sucking and squeezing at Peter’s length, listening to the choked-off sounds of desperate pleasure coming from his lover with every movement.

Miggs pulled off long enough to pant, voice rough and scratchy with desire and the stress of having a cock pressing down his throat, “Let me hear you, Peter, please, please—” Peter pulled his hand away from his mouth in favor of tangling both in his own hair, falling flat onto his back with a loud, helpless moan when Miggs started eagerly sucking at him again.

Miggs whimpered around Peter’s length as he continued to loudly let Miggs know he was really enjoying what Miggs was doing, beads of precome blooming on Miggs’ tongue as he tugged Peter’s underwear down a little more to cup Peter’s sac in his free hand, pulling just slightly on them in an attempt to hold off Peter’s orgasm, not wanting him to come just yet. Peter’s hips twitched and shifted restlessly as Miggs’ jaw began to ache with effort, and he pulled off to start dragging long, slow licks up the underside of Peter’s shaft, panting for breath as Peter moaned underneath him.

“Fuck, look at you,” Miggs shuddered, eyes hot and half-lidded as he stared up the length of Peter’s body. “You’re just perfect, aren’t you, God.” Peter twitched and a blush bloomed on his already flushed face and chest, the warm pink of arousal turning the deeper red of embarrassment. Peter groaned and threw an arm over his face, mouth twitching into a bit of a grimace.

“What?” Miggs asked, pausing in his attention until Peter grumbled and waved his hands in some sloppy sign language, only a couple of which Miggs sort of recognized, one possibly being a  _ no  _ if he was remembering correctly.

“You are, though,” Miggs mumbled against the underside of Peter’s cock, letting the vibration of the words press right against his sensitive shaft. “You’re incredible, Peter. Look so good. Bet you could pick me up and fuck me against a wall.” Peter let out a strangled noise and Miggs whimpered, his own orgasm starting to creep up on him at the thought. Miggs rubbed his hips against the soft edge of the couch cushion, desperate for any sort of friction as Peter bucked his hips, rubbing his cock against Miggs’ face in a clear demand for stimulation.

Miggs blushed as Peter smeared precome against his cheek with the thrust of his hips before Miggs got his mouth back over Peter’s cock, sucking him down to the base and swallowing around the head. Peter gasped and then howled when Miggs did it again, and Miggs whimpered around Peter’s cock at the sound. He hadn’t known Peter could be so loud, and he liked the discovery, rolling his hips more desperately against the couch, the cotton of his briefs rough and nearly chafing against his throbbing cock.

Miggs twitched in surprise when he started to pull off Peter's cock but the thick line of Peter’s dick throbbed as he began to come, spilling hotly against the flat of Miggs’ tongue. Peter let out a vaguely-apologetic sound, reaching down to grab Miggs’ curls and push him back down onto Peter’s cock until Peter finished coming into Miggs’ throat, hips grinding up against his face. Miggs trembled, arousal spiking through him at the slightly rough treatment, jerking a little when he started coming in his pants. Peter quickly let go and Miggs pulled off his cock, coughing and gasping as he desperately ground against the cushion, pressing his face into Peter’s hip.

Breathing hard, Miggs looked up after a second to see Peter just beginning to recover, one hand in his hair and the other resting on his stomach.

“Peter?” Miggs asked hesitantly, and Peter let out a soft sound before pushing himself into a sitting position and dragging Miggs up the couch to kiss him, heated and eager, tongue chasing the taste of himself in Miggs’ mouth and making him whimper.

Miggs twitched when Peter reached down to grope at his crotch, pausing when he found Miggs mostly soft. Miggs broke the kiss panting and trying not to blush too much as Peter’s thumb caught on the wet patch in Miggs’ jeans.

“I—I already—I came,” Miggs admitted lamely, blushing when Peter stared at him. “Hair pulling. And—and I really liked—y’know.” Miggs blushed harder and looked away when Peter stared at him, but was quickly corrected when Peter cupped his jaw and turned his head to kiss Miggs again, hot and wet, groaning as he squeezed gently at Miggs’ crotch before letting go. Miggs felt a bit dazed when Peter pulled back, the two of them slowly sprawling out on the narrow couch together, a bit of tenseness in their muscles all that was keeping them from falling to the floor.

“Maybe…maybe we should move to the bed?” Miggs asked blearily when they nearly slid off to the side for the third time, too caught up in the post-coital glow to really pay attention to maintaining their balance. Peter nodded, and neither of them moved until five minutes later, when Miggs eventually did slip and land on the floor, Peter’s arm saving his upper half but the rest of him landing with a harsh thump.

“Yeah, bed,” Miggs mumbled when Peter huffed a sleepy laugh, the two of them dragging themselves up and peeling out of their sweat and come-sticky clothing to crawl naked into the bed. Miggs yelped when Peter slid down along Miggs’ body to suck Miggs’ soft cock into his mouth, licking him clean before relenting and curling up against Miggs and wrapping an arm around his waist to hold him close. Peter paused a moment later and then rolled over to remove his hearing aids. Peter returned after a second, letting out a content sigh as Miggs clung to him, fingers tracing little circles and lines against Miggs’ lower back.

Miggs pressed a soft kiss to Peter’s throat, feeling sleepy and sated and safe, more secure in the knowledge that Peter, at some level at least, did want him.

“I love you,” Miggs muttered into Peter’s skin, reassured knowing Peter couldn’t hear him right now. Now if only he could gather the courage to say it when Peter could understand him. Peter let out a long breath and hugged Miggs closer, pressing a kiss to Miggs’ hair before they both drifted off into sleep. 


	17. Chapter 17

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> EDIT: HEY SO I REALIZED I HAD SOME CONTINUITY ERROR BETWEEN THIS CHAP AND THE NEXT SO I HAD TO EDIT IN A SCENE SORRY ABOUT THAT EJIFOAPGEFSD

Since they fell asleep sometime around seven, Miggs ended up waking at about five AM, and he groaned at the thought of  _ willingly  _ getting out of bed at such an early hour. He couldn’t even remember the last time he’d gotten up before eight AM without some outside interference that insisted he crawl out of bed and guzzle coffee in order to make it through the day.

Rolling over, Miggs found Peter still asleep, laying on his side with one arm extended so it was slipped under Miggs’ pillow, the other curled against his chest. Grumbling to himself, Miggs squirmed his way into Peter’s arms, earning a wet, confused huff of breath from Peter as he stirred slightly before wrapping both arms around Miggs and holding him close, grip the lax cage of deep sleep. Miggs hummed contentedly and did his best to drift back off; after all, who knew when he’d next get a vacation where he could enjoy sleeping in and indulge himself like this.

Peter’s morning wood poked Miggs in the hip, and he briefly considered waking Peter with a blowjob, wondering if that was allowed. Reaching down to stroke Peter’s dick didn’t seem unwelcome; Peter’s hips canted into his touch, and Miggs was just starting to squirm with arousal himself when Peter suddenly rolled onto his stomach, pinning most of Miggs beneath his body and burying his face in Miggs’ armpit, effectively cutting off any chance Miggs had of initiating morning sex without waking Peter up outright.

Miggs tried to wriggle his way free from underneath Peter, but the agent was much heavier, and seemed determined to keep Miggs half-trapped beneath him, one leg thrown over Miggs’ hips and bent at the knee to hook around Miggs’ thigh, both of Peter’s arms snaked around Miggs’ torso as he snored quietly into Miggs’ ribs.

“I can’t decide if this is the best or worst thing that has ever happened to me,” Miggs said out loud to no one in particular, not worrying about waking Peter since he couldn’t hear without his O.W.C.A.-issued aids. Turning his head slightly to look down at the tangled mess of curls that was Peter’s head buried between his arm and side, Miggs noted the slow, heavy pace of Peter’s breathing, betraying a level of relaxation Miggs wasn’t sure he’d ever seen Peter in before.

Leaning a little in favor of  _ best,  _ Miggs shifted around a little until he managed to get comfortable, craning his neck to glance at his nightstand. The book Peter had been teasing him with was sitting on it, and with a little bit of stretching and praying he wouldn’t wake Peter, he managed to snag it. Settling in to read crappy romance for a few hours, Miggs sighed and used one hand to hold the book open, grumbling at the difficulties of flipping the pages one-handed, the other trapped under Peter’s body.

Peter didn’t wake until the sun started peeking through the gaps in the curtain over the balcony doors, groaning loudly and lifting one hand to cover his face before rolling away from Miggs to put his back to the light. Miggs gasped as pins and needles raced through his left arm and leg, not having realized a couple of his limbs had fallen asleep while Peter had been laying on him. Setting aside his book, Miggs rolled to follow Peter, wrapping an arm around Peter’s waist and kissing at the back of his neck, earning a sleepy hum. Miggs kept kissing Peter’s skin until he stirred, reaching out to grab his hearing aid case and push one into his ear so he could hear Miggs.

“So what are we doing today?” Miggs asked, lips buzzing against Peter’s skin. Peter shrugged sleepily, reaching back to lazily pet at Miggs’ hip as Miggs' kissing turned into sucking, leaving a gentle bruise on the crook of Peter’s shoulder. Leaving marks on Peter was quickly proving to be one of Miggs’ favorite things; laying a visible claim on the man like that was almost intoxicating, and combined with the sight of the ring on Peter’s hand, it made Miggs’ heart race with petty possessiveness and pride.

Peter, at least, didn’t seem to mind, arching his neck and humming as Miggs left a couple more bruises on his skin. Miggs petted at Peter’s side and thigh, wanting to touch but not wanting to overstep, still getting used to the idea that Peter  _ wanted  _ him. Peter let out a soft sigh at Miggs’ touch, rolling over after a minute to wrap an arm around Miggs and pull him into a slow, lazy kiss. Miggs squirmed and moaned, trembling as Peter clutched him tighter when Miggs’ cock thickened against his hip.

Smirking, Peter rolled Miggs onto his back and slid on top of him, leaning down to kiss at Miggs’ throat and collarbone, making him groan and arch. Peter rolled his hips, grinding against Miggs and quickly reaching between them to wrap his hand around the both of them, stroking in time to the rhythm of his hips. Miggs whimpered and clutched at Peter, breathing hard as Peter quickly worked them towards orgasm, leaving Miggs shaking and crying out underneath him after a few minutes. Peter moaned as Miggs spilled wetly onto his own stomach, cock pulsing in Peter’s hand next to his dick until Peter stiffened and started to come as well, making even more of a mess on Miggs’ skin.

“Mmmph,” Miggs complained when Peter collapsed on top of him, apparently uncaring of the thick streaks of come cooling between them. “Get up, asshole, you’re going to glue us together.” Peter huffed in amusement and shook his head, nuzzling at Miggs’ throat and defiantly squirming around on top of him. “Peter,” Miggs complained half-heartedly, cuddling against Peter despite his desire to get up and shower. After a minute Peter sighed and peeled himself off Miggs, smirking when Miggs let out a sound of complaint.

They eventually made it out of bed and into the shower, rinsing clean of the come Peter had smeared across the both of them.

Using a towel to scrub his curls dry, Miggs sat half-dressed on the edge of the bed, watching Peter pull on a pair of boxers and then his trousers, smirking when he caught Miggs staring. Miggs flushed but didn’t stop, sure that Peter was well aware of Miggs’ attraction to him by now.

Miggs pitched the towel aside and watched Peter sit on the couch, pulling out his phone and frowning at it, thumbs tapping over the screen. Miggs watched for a minute before getting up and joining Peter on the narrow bench, letting out a pleased noise when Peter lifted an arm to wrap it around him and hold Miggs against his side. After a few minutes of watching Peter fiddle with his phone, Miggs managed to lean forward and snag the remote for the TV off the shelf, intent on putting the TV to its intended purpose rather than a route to hack into the Kellers’ network. 

Peter looked up from his phone as Miggs flicked through the available channels, letting out a delighted noise when Miggs stopped on a Sci-Fi one that was partway through an episode of  _ Space Adventure.  _

“Season two,” Miggs said, grinning at the sight of Lieutenant Bingly, who’d been killed off early season three. “D’you mind?” Miggs asked, fidgeting with the remote nervously. Peter shook his head, quickly swiping a thumb over his phone to bring up the note app. 

**_U kno i like SA._ **

“Yeah, but you prefer season six on,” Miggs snorted and Peter rolled his eyes. 

**_Better CGI._ **

“And less intelligent plot,” Miggs muttered, and Peter playfully jostled him before they fell into comfortable silence, watching the episode curled together. 

When the show went to commercial it was revealed the channel was having a marathon, and Miggs nearly elbowed Peter in the stomach as he sat up. 

“I’m not leaving the room until this is over,” he said, smacking Peter’s leg. “Do you think they’ve got room service?” Peter huffed a laugh and patted Miggs’ shoulder before leaning forward to flip through some of the pamphlets and little booklets on the shelf under the TV before pulling one free and handing it to him. There was indeed room service, though only from a couple of the restaurants on the ship. One of them did have vegetarian menu items though, so Miggs picked that one to order them lunch, and then settled back in to watch the show with Peter, who paid rapt attention after finishing whatever he’d been fiddling with on his phone before. 

Miggs fell into a light doze when the show reached season four some time in the afternoon, and Peter pretended to be a little offended when Miggs woke up at the sound of an explosion from the TV speakers. 

“It’s been a long week, okay,” Miggs mumbled, reaching up to try and pat down his mussed curls from where he’d rubbed them into a cowlicked mess against Peter’s shoulder in his sleep. Peter grinned, reaching up to pluck teasingly at Miggs’ curls until he scowled and swatted his hand away. The smack turned into a grab, the grab into a tussle, and before Miggs knew it Peter had him pinned against the couch, both of them grinning and squirming, trying to gain or keep the upper hand. 

Peter, always more than happy to cheat, leaned down and kissed Miggs, soft and brief, before Miggs dragged him back down into another. Peter braced one foot against the floor to keep them from slipping off the couch, and Miggs couldn’t suppress the silly grin on his face as Peter touched him and kissed him so eagerly outside of view of the cameras. It felt good to know Peter wanted him too, to have Peter’s breath catch when Miggs touched him, to have him moan when Miggs wrapped his legs around Peter’s waist. 

“More?” Miggs breathed as Peter started to roll his hips, pushing half an erection against Miggs and making him moan. Peter nodded, reaching down to tug Miggs’ shirt up, fingers skating over his skin before sliding down to his waist, nuzzling at Miggs’ throat as he slowly pulled the zip of Miggs’ jeans down. 

Miggs arched when Peter got their pants around their knees, using his hand to bring their erections together and start a steady rhythm between his hands and his hips, both of them panting and whimpering. Miggs clutched at Peter’s shoulders and pulled Peter harder against him with his legs around Peter’s waist, throwing his head back when Peter started nipping at his throat, heat and slick building between them. 

“Peter, please—” Miggs gasped, arching when Peter kissed at the soft skin under his ear, making him cry out when he twisted his hand at the head of his cock, just enough friction to make Miggs tremble helplessly. “Please!” Peter growled at the desperation in Miggs’ voice, increasing his speed just a little, mouth roaming over Miggs’ skin already mottled with bruises and bites from the last few days. Miggs gasped when Peter sank his teeth into the crook of his shoulder, sucking hard to leave another mark. Miggs let out a strangled noise as he started to come, pulsing in Peter’s hand and spilling onto his own stomach. Peter groaned and slid his free hand up one of Miggs’ arms to grab his wrist, guiding him into sprawling out on the narrow cushion, brushing his palm over Miggs’ forearm before tangling their fingers together, squeezing Miggs palm. 

“Peter,” Miggs mumbled, feeling a little dazed and flushed as he watched Peter with hooded eyes, a curling sense of satisfaction blooming in his stomach at the sight of Peter panting and desperate above him. Peter groaned and buried his face in Miggs’ throat, hips jumping forward as he came over Miggs’ stomach in hot streaks, a few hitting the bunched material of Miggs’ shirt over his chest. 

Peter swayed a little but stayed braced above Miggs so he wouldn’t crush him on the narrow couch, pushing himself up after a second so Miggs could sit up. Miggs pulled his shirt off over his head to wipe up the mess on his stomach and then tossed it aside, blushing when Peter’s gaze wandered over his torso before returning to his face. 

Miggs groaned in disappointment when he noticed that the TV had stopped playing Space Adventure in favor of some gritty reality show about aliens and how they supposedly built the pyramids. 

“We spent all day watching TV,” Miggs mumbled, noticing the time when he pulled up the TV’s directory to see what else was on. Peter shrugged, leaning over to cup Miggs’ chin and kiss him before grabbing his phone to type up a quick note. 

**_Good 2 take a break sometimes._ **

“Yeah, but I doubt O.W.C.A. would be pleased to know we’re lounging around watching TV and having sex when we’re supposed to be investigating or whatever,” Miggs muttered, tossing the remote aside as Peter huffed a laugh. Miggs got up and crossed to the bed to snag a new shirt and pull it on, sitting on the edge as he thought over what they’d learned. 

“So it’s looking like the spa’s our best bet,” Miggs recapped, and Peter nodded, walking over to sit on the bed next to Miggs and leaning in to brush a few kisses up the side of his throat. Miggs hummed and arched to grant Peter more access, thinking over what they knew of the Kellers’ plot so far. There clearly  _ was  _ a plot, there was too much fishy evidence for there not to be.

“And we won’t be able to do any covert ops in the spa itself until tomorrow night,” Miggs said, frowning and reaching up to rub at his chin. “I wonder what they’re drugging the guests with. It has to be something subtle, otherwise more people would be figuring out what was going on. Something easily absorbed through the skin during a…I dunno, a mudbath or whatever you do in spas?” Peter huffed a brief laugh and nodded, nuzzling at Miggs again before turning to grab his notepad and flip through to a blank page and start writing.

**_Most likely it’s something that's consumed; things transferred through the skin would be too risky; the dosage is harder to guesstimate, and the administers could accidentally dose themselves. I’m thinking it’s the beverages served in the spa._ **

“Makes sense,” Miggs said after a minute, turning to crawl over the bed, leaning down to drag his bag back up and across the bed, going back to the small couch with it and the brief relief the area offered from the Kellers’ security systems.

“I don’t know about you, but I don’t carry a miniature lab with me on vacation,” Miggs said, a bit of sarcasm in the last word making the corner of Peter’s mouth twitch from where he was watching Miggs, leaning back on the mattress with one hand as Miggs dug around in his bag. “However, I think I can probably figure out what drug they’re using as long as I can get a sample. Mom did teach me a bit about her preferred area of science before…uh, before, so with this,” Miggs pulled out a small analyzer that he usually implemented when a client wanted to develop a neurotoxin or poison and waved it at Peter, “I should be able to at  _ least _ narrow it down.” Peter nodded, watching Miggs fiddle with the device for a second before tucking it away again and checking the rest of his bag. Miggs hadn’t quite known what to expect on this mission, so he’d tried to pack a little bit of everything that was small enough to smuggle through customs and could easily be explained away as a complicated calculator as long as he threw around enough big college-professor-of-engineering words. The fact that he cobbled together a lot of his inventions from complicated calculators and other devices like that helped quite a bit, too.

Miggs sat on the couch and blew out a breath, staring at the carpet of the cabin for a second.

“I didn’t think Ian would go back to evil,” he admitted after a second, apparently startling Peter, who sat up and stared at him. Miggs flushed and looked away, reaching up to rub at the back of his neck. “I mean, I wasn’t really  _ around  _ when he retired, but I was at E.U. at the time, and the villain community, well they’re all fucking gossips. So news of it spread pretty fast when his nemesis had to help him even locate his machines.” Peter hummed softly and nodded, and Miggs wondered if the story of Ian losing his mind had been passed around on the agent side of the fence as well. He wondered if it’d been regarded with as much sympathy and sadness as it had by the villains, or if it’d been more a case of ridicule.

Miggs grimaced; from what he knew of agents, it was probably the latter. He didn’t want to think that Peter would have been one to take humor from Ian Keller’s descent into illness and old age, but Miggs couldn’t really know. It’d been years ago, and Peter tended to hold his emotions close to his chest on the best of days.

“I wish…I wish I’d gone to see him,” Miggs mumbled, reaching up to rub at his forehead. “I almost did, but I figured if he couldn’t even remember what project he’d been working on yesterday, what were the chances he’d remember some kid from fifteen years ago?” Peter clicked his fingers until Miggs looked up.

**_Alzheimer’s doesn’t rly work like that tho._ **

“I know,” Miggs mumbled. “I mean, I know that  _ now.  _ Back then I just…figured he wouldn’t recognize me. And even if he did, I didn’t think he’d want to see me. ‘Arms dealer’ isn’t quite something to be  _ proud  _ of, you know. They appreciated what I did for them, but it didn’t really get me any respect. I was…am…sort of a joke to other villains, I never put on my own schemes or have any aims for local or world domination.” Peter snorted, and Miggs lifted an eyebrow. “What, you think I would take over the world if I had the chance?” Peter shrugged and then shook his head and Miggs smirked. “I could totally at least take over Seattle if I wanted, though. Just one little mind-control-inator and I’d have the whole city under my thumb.” Peter rolled his eyes, recognizing the tease in Miggs’ voice.

“Ruling the world—or a city even—is so much  _ work  _ though, I get exhausted trying to control a classroom of college kids,” Miggs groaned, leaning back against the couch and pressing the heels of his hands into his eyes. “Did I tell you Tim Gardner set the shop on fire a few days before you proposed to me?” Miggs lifted one hand away from his face to see Peter staring at him, looking a little startled and also a little confused, with just a hint of a pleased look making the corners of his mouth curl. “What?” After a second, Peter shook his head, looking away almost shyly as his cheeks darkened with a blush. Miggs stared, mouth spreading into an uncertain smile as Peter glanced at him, one hand playing with the cap of his pen as he bit his lip. If Miggs didn’t know better, he’d say Peter was acting like he had a crush on Miggs, and was beyond pleased to have been reminded they were married.

The thought made Miggs blush as well, and he cleared his throat awkwardly, looking away from Peter in favor of staring at the dark TV across from him instead.

“Anyway,” Miggs said weakly, “I thought he’d retired for good. Villains aren’t usually so subtle about comebacks, you know? Usually it’s all…flashing lights and AC/DC blasting in the streets while they show up in a big cloud of smoke and robots.” Peter snorted a laugh, and Miggs smiled at the sound.

“I wish I’d talked to him,” Miggs said softly, mostly to himself. “Maybe…maybe things would be different, if I had.” 


	18. Chapter 18

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> In case you missed it, I had to edit Ch. 17 bc of a continuity error lmao sorry :'D

Miggs twitched in surprise when Peter moved to kneel in front of him, one hand on Miggs’ knee and the other holding up his notepad, expression gentle and concerned.

**_You are not responsible for other people’s choices._ **

Miggs stared at the note for a second and then at Peter, who gave him a soft smile before setting the notepad aside and reaching up to draw Miggs down into a soft kiss, mouth warm and a just a little wet as he pressed his lips to Miggs’ lower one, a hint of pressure and suction making Miggs shiver as he kissed Peter back. Peter let out an encouraging sound when Miggs reached out to hold onto Peter’s shoulders, unsure what else to do with his hands, and they spent a few minutes like that, just sitting and kissing. Miggs squirmed a little with arousal, but it somehow felt inappropriate; the kiss felt like it wasn’t a prelude to sex, like it was meant to be more of a display of comfort and affection, Peter’s way of showing Miggs he was right there.

It made Miggs’ head spin a little.

When Peter pulled back he had a curious look on his face, affectionate and confused and pleased all at the same time, and Miggs stared, his heart kicking up a notch in its pace at the sight.

“Peter?” Miggs asked hesitantly, and Peter blinked, lifting an eyebrow when Miggs just flushed and looked away. “Um.” Peter hummed and reached out to stroke his thumb along Miggs’ jaw a couple times. Miggs chewed his lip, squirming a little in his seat as Peter cupped his jaw before sliding his hand to the back of Miggs’ neck, threading his fingers through Miggs’ curls and squeezing the taut line of his spine. Miggs shivered a little at that and Peter let out a soft sound, repeating the squeeze before letting go and pushing himself to his feet, snagging his notepad as he went, pen scratching over the paper when Miggs looked up. Peter turned the notepad around to show him, a couple curling lines of ink decorating the bottom of the page.

**_Want to see something?_ **

Miggs’ mind jumped straight into the gutter before he dragged it back out, blushing before hesitantly nodding. Peter smirked, apparently catching the brief turn Miggs’ thoughts had taken before offering Miggs his hand. Miggs took it, and Peter pulled him to his feet, leading him out of the cabin and back to the main deck.

The sun had slipped mostly behind the horizon, leaving the sky stained with deep purples and reds near the sliver still visible, the rest of it fading into inky blackness above them, stars just starting to peek out here and there.

Peter led Miggs along the deck at a leisurely pace, neither hurried nor meandering, fingers threaded through Miggs’ and his thumb rubbing over Miggs’ knuckles every once in awhile. Miggs savored the simple intimacy; holding hands with Peter like this felt good, familiar and pleasant, with just enough of the thrill from it only having been a thing they did for a few days making his skin tingle.

Peter took Miggs to nearly the frontmost deck of the ship, pulling him off their beeline path towards the bow to instead lead him into a squared-off entry with a few long steps that led down to a pair of solid double doors that reminded Miggs of a movie theater. Peter pushed one door open and pulled Miggs through it, and Miggs stared at what appeared to actually _be_ a movie theater inside, a narrow walkway leading down to an open floor where rows of seats sat, a couple staircases to either side leading up to higher rows.

“What’s this?” Miggs asked softly, observing that the theater was about half full of other patrons on the cruise, chatting quietly with their spouses or seated neighbors. Peter grinned and shook his head, just tugging at Miggs until he started walking again, guiding them to a couple of seats halfway up the sloped room, settling in where there was a good amount of space between them and any other couples.

Miggs pushed the seat of the folded chair down and settled in, looking around for the movie screen. There was no projector screen that he could see anywhere, the wall all the chairs were facing a solid expanse of paneling.

“I don’t understand,” Miggs murmured, leaning closer to Peter and peering at the wall, wondering if the squared off shapes of it were possibly monitors. Peter shushed him, using his elbow to push the armrest between them up, lifting his arm to wrap it around Miggs’ shoulders and pull him close. Miggs stiffened in surprise before relaxing into Peter’s side, a pleased flush spreading through him as Peter cuddled him, resting his cheek on Miggs’ hair as they sat in silence for a minute, curled together in the chairs.

 _“Ladies and gentlemen, please turn off your electronic devices. The show will be starting in fifteen seconds.”_ Patricia Keller’s voice sounded in the theater, loud and monotone, probably a recording from what Miggs could tell. The theater suddenly hushed, couples and groups falling silent in preparation for the show. Miggs waited, counting off the fifteen seconds in his head.

Peter squeezed him a little closer when Miggs got to fourteen, and then….nothing happened. Miggs frowned, looking around before turning to look at Peter. Peter just grinned and nodded his head towards the front of the room, so Miggs turned to look, brow furrowed. It didn’t appear any different than a second ago, but as Miggs watched, he started to notice little pinpricks of light manifesting here and there on the wall, getting brighter by the second.

After a minute, Miggs realized they were stars, the wall in front of them steadily lighting up with scatterings of light and color, a slow pan in highlighting bits of cloud and gas as the image moved through the atmosphere.

“Computer generated?” Miggs mumbled, and Peter shook his head, shifting to pull his notepad out of his pocket and scratch a quick note to show Miggs.

**_Observatory. Telescope on the top of the ship. Live feed of the sky above us._ **

Miggs had to squint a little to read it in the dark, and a soft sound of surprise escaped him as he processed it, lifting his head to stare at the sky, the image zoomed in on a cluster of stars, showing nebulous gases and trails of light, delicate pinpricks to the naked eye exposed as complex, swirling vortexes.

“Oh,” Miggs said softly, staring. “I…why?” Miggs’ heart seemed to almost stumble in its beat as he turned to look at Peter, who made an awkward, embarrassed face before hesitantly writing him another note.

**_u stare at the stars a lot. I thought u would like it._ **

“I…” Miggs’ chest felt tight; he was sure if he’d been standing his knees would be weak and wobbly. Miggs knew he stared at the sky sometimes. But he hadn’t thought Peter had _noticed._

“I do like it,” Miggs said after a second, melting at the look at the relief on Peter’s face. “It’s beautiful.” Peter smiled, pleased, slipping his pen into the spiral binding of his notepad and tightening the arm around Miggs’ shoulders.

Miggs tucked his head under Peter’s jaw, pulling his legs up into his seat and wrapping one arm over Peter’s torso to hold him back as they watched the telescope view switch to a different gathering of stars, panning over a blooming nebula and flowing cloud of gas. Miggs wondered if Ian had built the telescope, since it seemed ridiculously advanced and powerful to be implemented as something for entertainment on a cruise vessel.

Miggs noticed after a few minutes that there was soft music playing, something with violin and piano, romantic but simple and subtle.

Curled up with Peter like this, staring at the stars, it felt overwhelmingly like a date. Even though they were married, even though they’d had sex, this felt…different. This wasn’t necessary for their mission. This wasn’t something that would glean them more information on the Kellers or their scheme or help Miggs and Peter keep their cover.

This was Peter doing something for Miggs, _with_ Miggs, one arm around him, fingers playing over the skin of Miggs’ arm under the hem of his sleeve, tracing little patterns and shapes there until Miggs’ skin broke out in goosebumps. Miggs’ heart felt swollen, and he turned his head to nuzzle into Peter’s throat, hugging him tighter. Peter hummed and squeezed back, letting out a soft sound of surprise when Miggs pressed his lips to Peter’s neck, kissing him a few times before pulling back.

“You…I…” Miggs mumbled, stumbling over his words, trying to figure out how to express his feelings about Peter, about them, about _this._ “Peter.” The word was inadequate, it was too much, short and strangled, Miggs’ world in five letters, brimming with emotion and saying everything and nothing at once.

Peter stared at him, like he understood everything Miggs wanted to tell him, like he could never fathom the sound of his own name coming from Miggs’ lips. Shaking a little, Miggs leaned in and kissed him, slow and chaste, wishing he had half the courage Peter did just so he could just tell Peter that he loved him.

Peter reached up with his other hand to cup Miggs’ face, holding him in the kiss, deepening it slowly, Miggs’ heart racing and his breath catching at the gradual press and pull and slide of Peter’s mouth against his, the leisurely tracing of the tip of Peter’s tongue along the seam of Miggs’ lips until he opened for him, a small whimper breaking from them both when Miggs turned his head slightly to let Peter slip his tongue into Miggs’ mouth, a slow burn of arousal starting to simmer in the back of Miggs’ mind. He ignored it, intent on focusing on Peter rather than the slow thickening of his cock, wanting to just touch and hold and be gradually showered in affection by Peter as they sat tangled up with each other in the dark theater.

They broke apart to breathe for a second, Peter’s eyes burning behind the dark lenses of his glasses when Miggs met his gaze, and he let out a soft sound of need before pulling Peter back into another kiss, more than happy to spend the rest of the show looking at Peter rather than the screen.

Peter’s hand wandered from Miggs’ jaw to his shoulder, down his arm to his wrist, migrating to his waist and then his hip, stroking down the length of Miggs’ thigh and then back up it. The touch was light and just the tiniest bit desperate, the gentle cup of his palm against Miggs’ hip turning to a tight clutch of fingers and thumb when Miggs moaned quietly and pressed tighter to Peter’s side.

“Peter,” Miggs mumbled, squirming against Peter’s side a little, starting to feel hot and restless, wanting to throw his leg over Peter’s lap and grind against him. Only the background knowledge that they were in public stopped him from doing so, but Peter made a tiny, helpless noise, like he knew exactly what Miggs wanted, like he wanted it too, desperately.

Miggs nuzzled at Peter’s jaw, the tip of his nose dragging through Peter’s beard, tracing the shell of his ear, leaning in to kiss the soft skin under it, nibbling a little at the lobe and earning a breathless moan. Miggs shuddered at the sound, fingers tightening in the fabric of Peter’s shirt, probably pulling at some of his chest hair from the way Peter arched. Miggs bit his lip, embarrassingly hard and pressed tight against Peter’s side in a none-too-subtle display.

A quick glance around revealed that everyone was either enraptured by the screen displaying a pulsating star surrounded by cosmic dust sparkling green and blue, or tangled up just as closely as Miggs and Peter were. Grateful for that small blessing, Miggs turned his attention back to his husband, hesitantly brushing his fingers over Peter’s chest through his shirt, pausing at the raised peak on one side of Peter’s chest, rolling it curiously between his fingers. Peter let out a soft sound of desire, his hand on Miggs’ hip tightening even further, pulling at him until Miggs’ knee slipped between Peter’s legs, his thigh pressing against the erection tenting the front of Peter’s pants. Miggs shuddered, pulling away to pant, nearly dissolving into a puddle at the look of naked need on Peter’s face.

“Take me to bed?” Miggs whispered, biting his lip when Peter stared at him for a second before nodding, the two of them doing their best to subtly disentangle themselves and leave the theater. Several couples turned to look when Miggs banged his elbow against his armrest and swore loudly, but other than that they managed to make it out of the theater without causing a scene, and the dark hid their state of arousal enough to prevent them further embarrassment.

Outside the theater, the deck of the ship was lit by rounded bulbs on tall poles and paper lanterns dangling from overhangs, so they awkwardly shuffled their way along the railing, turning to face the water whenever someone appeared walking in the opposite direction.

The second time, Miggs made the mistake of turning to look at Peter while they waited for the cluster of people to pass them, only to find Peter awkwardly picking at the railing’s varnish.

“This is ridiculous,” Miggs mumbled, making Peter look up, lifting an eyebrow. “It’s just…I can’t believe we’re…” Miggs giggled, putting one hand over his face as he tried to fathom how a favor to his friend had spiraled so spectacularly out of control. Peter’s mouth twitched with amusement, and after a second they were leaning against the rail and each other, giggling like kids in sex ed for the first time, when everything inappropriate was funny in a twisted sort of way.

“I can’t breathe,” Miggs wheezed as they hurried their way towards the stairwell, clinging to each other for support and still laughing. “It’s not that funny, make it stop.”

Peter, huffing in amusement himself and grinning like the cat that got the cream, just shook his head, making them nearly trip and fall down to the stairs as they stumbled their way down them. They managed to make their way to the cabin without breaking their necks, and the minute they were inside they collapsed on the bed together, on their sides and facing each other. Miggs covered his grin with one hand, letting Peter take the other hand to tangle their fingers together, slipping one leg between Peter’s knees and hooking his heel behind Peter’s ankle.

Miggs’ breath was still catching with uncontrollable giggles when Peter reached out with one hand to brush some of Miggs’ curls out of his face, smile slowly fading as Miggs watched.

Miggs’ own grin disappeared as Peter stared at him, eyes flicking over Miggs’ face, blue eyes intense and burning behind his glasses.

“Peter?” Miggs asked hesitantly, lowering his hand from his mouth. Peter hummed and moved his hand from Miggs’ hair to his hip, pulling him closer and rolling them slightly to arch over Miggs, leaning down to brush a kiss over Miggs’ mouth.

Miggs softened beneath Peter, going lax and nearly purring with pleasure as Peter stroked his hands over Miggs’ body, eyes roaming along where Miggs stretched his arms above his head, down over his face to his torso, hands following his gaze after a beat. Miggs arched under the attention, gasping when Peter swooped down to start kissing at his throat, thumbs finding the raised peaks of his nipples through his shirt and pressing against them.

“Please—” Miggs gasped, trembling when Peter kissed his way up Miggs’ neck to his mouth, tongue quickly slipping between Miggs’ lips to slide along Miggs’ until he moaned. Peter pulled back, breathing a little shaky, a smile tugging at his mouth when Miggs stared up at him with hooded eyes. Miggs’ mouth curled up at the corners in response, love thrumming warm and steady in his chest. Miggs reached up to cup Peter’s face, heart starting to race as he licked his lips and gathered as much resolve and courage he could in his cowardly heart.

“Peter, I…” Miggs began, taking a deep breath before the plunge, “I love—”

A sharp ringing noise shattered the moment, making Peter jump and Miggs’ resolve scatter like a broken bag of marbles.

Peter climbed off Miggs and grabbed his laptop from where it was lying on the ground by the bed, sitting on the couch in front of the TV and opening the lid.

Miggs’ stomach knotted unpleasantly at the sight of the O.W.C.A. logo blinking demandingly on the screen. Peter winced as well before accepting the call.

Hoffman appeared on the screen, scowling a little and sans the glasses she’d worn last time.

 _“Oh, good, you’re not naked,”_ she said after peering at the screen. Peter cringed, wiggling his fingers at her in greeting. _“Agent P. We need to talk.”_

Peter tilted his head to one side as Miggs watched, inviting Hoffman to elaborate.

_“O.W.C.A. has decided to terminate your mission.”_


	19. Chapter 19

“What?!” Miggs yelped, leaping off the bed and scrambling towards where Peter was sitting, falling to his knees by his husband. “Why?” Miggs put one hand on the side of Peter’s laptop, tilting the screen back to see better as his other hand came to rest on Peter’s forearm, squeezing a little.

_ “After reviewing Agent P’s reports of the mission thus far, we feel it has been…”  _ Hoffman paused, mouth pursing visibly, “ _ a mistake to allow you to accompany Agent P.” _

“But—” Miggs spluttered, heart sinking like a rock in his chest and his grip on Peter’s wrist tightening. “But what did I do  _ wrong?  _ I haven’t—haven’t compromised the mission, any direct contact I had with Ian, Peter monitored, I-I was the one to discover they’re recording the guests having sex! I-I-I don’t—

_ “Professor, please. O.W.C.A. feels that the two of you, with your already convoluted relationship, forced into constant close quarters like this, it would create…problems, _ ” Hoffman said, steepling her fingers in front of her mouth.

“What do you mean?” Miggs asked weakly, twitching in surprised when Peter slid his arm from of Miggs’ grip to tangle their fingers together outside of view of the camera.

_ “Problems like…” _ Hoffman gave a delicate cough, a hint of color appearing high on her cheeks before she continued,  _ “the forced consummation of your marriage. While the two of you may be…amicable in your cover identities, we fear this may cause complications to your nemesiship further down the road. And no offense, Professor, but no other agent wants you as a nemesis.” _

“I’m aware,” Miggs muttered, looking away with a bitter twisting sensation in his stomach. “I don’t want any other nemesis than Peter anyway.” Hoffman made a soft sound of confirmation, folding her hands on the desk.

_ “For these reasons, we’ll be extracting you from this mission, _ ” Hoffman said, and Miggs could feel Peter physically wilting next to him. As far as Miggs was aware, Peter had never failed a mission, had never needed to be extracted from any cover he’d ever gone under. The only place he’d ever fallen short in the agency’s eyes had been as Miggs’ nemesis, letting devices occasionally make it through unscathed, but that was only because Peter knew Miggs needed the money he made from them.

It must have been horrible for Peter, and Miggs felt his insides turn to lead with the knowledge that it was Miggs’ fault.

“Give us forty-eight hours,” Miggs said, lifting his head to give Hoffman a determined look through the camera. “If we can get into the spa, find out what they’re dosing the patrons with, we can—just. Give us more time. Please.” Hoffman let out a sigh, glancing to one side.

_ “I can’t disobey direct orders,”  _ she said after a minute.  _ “But I can delay the extraction for as long as I can. I’ll let you know when the team is on its way. You’ll have a few hours after they’re dispatched. The longest I can give you is a day or two before then.” _

Miggs looked up when Peter nudged him, lifting a note for him to read off to Hoffman.

“How are we going to be removed from the cruise without arousing suspicion from the Kellers?” Miggs read aloud, glancing up at Hoffman with a frown.

_ “Agent P’s cover identity for this mission was supplied with a backstory of wealthy parents,”  _ Hoffman said, waving a hand absently.  _ “They ‘gifted’ this vacation to you for your wedding present. You’d obviously never be able to afford it on your own. Simply put, Agent P’s ‘parents’ suddenly fall ill and send a helicopter to fetch their only son and heir and his spouse to their side.”  _ Peter nodded shortly, expression closed off and stern.

“Okay,” Miggs said, throat feeling a little thick at the thought that the time he had left as Peter’s was even less than he’d thought. “Then we do the rest of this my way.”

_ “What—”  _ Hoffman began, but was cut off when Miggs reached out to snap the laptop shut. Peter gave him a startled look, but Miggs pushed himself to his feet, putting his hands over his face for a second.

“Okay,” Miggs said again, blowing out a breath. “Best case, we’ve got two days. We can’t get into the spa until tomorrow night unless we want to do your agent thing with employees and other patrons around, which makes everything a lot fucking harder.” Miggs dropped his hands to see Peter staring at him and then nodding hesitantly. “And even if we find out what they’re using on everybody, we’ve got a bigger problem.” Peter’s eyes narrowed, mouth flattening into a thin line.

“We still don’t know  _ why. _ ” Miggs rubbed a couple fingers against his forehead, scowling. “I’ve been trying to figure it out ever since Hoffman said we were investigating Ian. He’s  _ retired,  _ has been for over ten years. He has Alzheimer’s, he didn’t recognize me even though he’s got photos of me in his damn office, Peter. He’s not all there anymore. His wife is squeaky clean, they don’t  _ seem  _ like they’re plotting anything, but the ship and the guests are bleeding evidence that something is going on all over the place. It doesn’t make  _ sense. _ ”

Peter hummed and nodded, setting his laptop aside and leaning his elbow on his knees to watch Miggs pace back and forth, eyes bright behind the lenses of his glasses.

“I need the laptop,” Miggs said, and Peter blinked before frowning, reaching around to hold his computer out to Miggs. “No, not that one! I mean the Kellers’ laptop, you know, their desktops were clean but their hard copies had records of them monitoring the patrons. If they’re doing anything digitally, it’s probably on a laptop or a computer in their private quarters. I need it. It’s got to have the answers on it.” Peter nodded, running a hand through his hair. He snagged his notepad and held it up a second later, a couple lines scrawled across the top of a fresh page.

**_It’ll b much harder to get into their rooms than their offices. Dont even kno where they R._ **

“I know,” Miggs mumbled, rubbing his chin. “Fuck, okay, maybe if we find out what’s going on in the spa we can guess. You said the guests were acting confused, lethargic, yeah? It might be some sort of sedative, or possibly something that makes people easier to control. Maybe something that makes them suggestible? Implant the idea that they have to come back again, so that after they leave the cruise they do whatever they can to go on it again.” Peter shrugged, pen scratching on the paper.

**_Might also b smth addictive._ **

Miggs nodded, chewing the corner of his thumbnail. “Anybody showing signs of withdrawal?” Peter shrugged in response, and Miggs lowered his hand from his mouth.

“We’ve been spending too much time in bed,” Miggs muttered and a smirk flicked over Peter’s face before vanishing. “Okay, the pool and bars and casino are where most people are going to be congregating when they’re not fucking each others brains out in their rooms. It’s been a few days since the spa opened on the first day, so if anyone went right away and hasn’t been back, and whatever they’re putting in people  _ is  _ addictive, depending on the intensity—and I’m guessing pretty fucking intense to be having people selling their homes and shit to get another hit—they should be showing symptoms even if they don’t realize what’s causing it.” Peter nodded again, watching Miggs walk around the bed to where his things were, digging through them until he found the nicest clothes he’d brought on the cruise, consisting of black slacks and a soft black tank top with dress shoes.

“So,” Miggs said, blushing when he looked up to see Peter watching him strip down. “Wanna go out?” Peter’s mouth curled into an intrigued smile and he nodded, so Miggs quickly dressed, attention diverted to not tripping as he pulled on his pants, noticing Peter getting up to change clothes as well out of the corner of his eye.

After tying up the laces to his shoes, Miggs looked up to see Peter adjusting the cuffs on his shirt, hardly having changed much. He was in the same slacks, though he’d traded his usual white button up for a black one, adding a white vest with three buttons fastened over his stomach. Peter noticed Miggs staring after a moment and held his arms out, like he was asking for Miggs approval.

Miggs did his best to drag his jaw up off the floor so he could speak, blinking and clearing his throat as he nodded.

“Yeah, that’s…that looks…great. You look great,” Miggs stammered, and Peter smirked, tilting his head to one side and lifting an eyebrow as Miggs flushed and then bit his lip as he walked closer to Peter, tugging at the hem of his turtleneck. Peter hummed and reached out to pull Miggs close, one hand cupping Miggs’ hip as the other slid to his lower back to hold Miggs against him. Miggs blushed but smiled, pleased, reaching up to wrap his arms around Peter’s neck, arching into him as Peter leaned in to kiss him. They broke apart after a second, Miggs’ breath hitching at the hungry look on Peter’s face.

“Look, I’d love to, really I would, but uh,” Miggs said, flushing when Peter smirked, lifting one eyebrow, “we’re kinda on a much shorter time limit here.” Peter hummed and nodded, brushing one last kiss over Miggs’ mouth before taking his hand and leading him out of the cabin. 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hey guys! I already talked a little about this on the last OLT chapter, but I wanted to let you know here as well, but I've most likely gotten an IRL job bc y'know. Need money to pay bills lmao. I'm supposed to be starting work soon (sometime this week or weekend I think, I have to go get drug tested and all that jazz first) and I'm not quite sure how it's going to affect my creative output :( so in turn I'm not quite sure what that means for fic updates. 
> 
> After talking with Doc's and others, the general plan for right now is that HYP and OLT would both move to "updates whenever" on AO3, aka no more steady updates on my fics bc I'm probably going to be too busy and tired ;n; 
> 
> I'm actually really upset that I'm not going to be able to keep updating steadily here ;n; I'm so sorry you guys. I'll try to at least keep HYP updating semi-regularly but I'm just not sure if I'm going to be able to keep up with everything in the long run. :(( 
> 
> The fic is NOT abandoned though, I already know how the rest of the plot goes for the most part and how it ends, I just need to have the time and energy to get there :'D So it's probably just gonna take some more time than originally planned. :C 
> 
> **TL;DR:** Got a RL job that's supposed to start soon, updates will be random and possibly few and far between as I adjust and figure out how much I'll be able to focus and produce in the coming months, and I'm really sorry I'm not able to keep up with everything right this second :C


	20. Chapter 20

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> time is a human construct and as a human i am _so sorry_ it's taken me so long to update this oh my god
> 
> on the bright (????) side i may be quitting my job soon so like. might have more time/energy to write again sob anyway enjoy

The casino was a glittering display of blinking machines playing cheesy music and carnival-esque lights. People slipped bills and coins into various slots and threw dice and cards over different tables; dealers and cocktail waitresses were dressed in tight black vests and white pants, bronze nametags gleaming on their lapels as they worked their stations. A drink appeared in Miggs’ hands within seconds of him setting foot in the casino, the waitress giving him a smile as she walked away before he could try to give it back.

Peter sipped at the cocktail he’d been handed while Miggs set his aside on the edge of a slot machine, wanting his head as clear as possible. Miggs kept one hand tangled with Peter’s as they looked over the casino floor, the other tucked into his pocket as he looked over the patrons as subtly as he could.

Having been in the villain community one way or another for most of his life, drugs were no stranger to him, since that particularly dirty corner of the business always seemed to be in want of weapons and inators of various kinds. Miggs had done his best not to work with the seedier villains that made their money in the suffering of addicts and desperate people, but he’d brushed up against them a few times, and had come to know the signs as well as anyone who drifted around villain spaces as much as he did.

From just a quick look around, most of the patrons were showing some slight sign of drug abuse, twitching and drinking heavier than seemed characteristic, like they were trying to numb a hunger food could never quench.

“Addictive it is,” Miggs murmured to Peter as they leaned against the edge of a craps game, Peter pulling a couple twenties from his wallet so the dealer would pass them a pile of chips and the dice. Peter cocked an eyebrow as he palmed the dice for a second, and Miggs nodded to where a woman sitting at the blackjack table was fidgeting restlessly, crossing and uncrossing her legs, reaching up to tug at her hair every few seconds, nearly identical behavior to a man a few chairs down from her, who was pulling at his ear instead. A quick scan of the surrounding area showed several other people doing nearly the same things, rubbing at necks or chins or ears, eyes a little duller than alcohol could provide, unless they were all well and truly smashed.

Peter threw the dice down the table, frowning when he rolled three and the dealer swept up the few chips they’d placed. Peter tugged his notepad out and jotted a quick note as another player scooped up the dice, blowing on them before rattling them in their right hand.

**_It’s worse than at the pool._ **

“It’s been a few days,” Miggs murmured in return, earning a nod as they watched the man with the dice toss eleven and the dealer shuffled the board some, each of them laying down a few more chips here and there.

“Boring game, isn’t it?” Miggs sighed after a second, turning to the man on his other side, who gave him a strange look before shrugging, fingers of his left hand tugging at his earlobe every forty seconds or so.

“Maybe if you don’t know how to play,” he replied, glancing over Miggs’ mostly randomly placed chips. Miggs shrugged.

“I mostly came because he wanted to,” Miggs said, gesturing at Peter, who was tossing the dice and placing chips like he gambled every day and knew the game like the back of his hand. The man nodded, shifting his weight to one leg to bounce the other agitatedly as he pointed to where a woman in a clinging black dress was feeding several bills into an animal-themed slot machine.

“Betty loves slots,” he said, shrugging when Miggs glanced in the woman’s direction. “Our state doesn’t have legalized gambling though, thank God, or we’d be poor as shit.” Miggs faked a laugh, sliding into his Mystery persona as easily as he could without a mask and long coat, trying to work the man like a reluctant customer that didn’t want to admit what sort of inator they were after.

“Really, I’m looking forward to the spa,” Miggs said, tossing the dice without looking when they were passed to him and not paying attention to the result, barely blinking when Peter slid a large chunk of chips into Miggs’ slot on the edge of the table.

“Oh, the spa’s great!” the man leaned almost alarmingly close, and Miggs instinctively leaned away, pressing against Peter’s arm as the man didn’t even notice Miggs’ discomfort. “You’ve got to try their acupuncture package, like sure, the massage is great, but the accu—”

“I don’t like needles,” Miggs interrupted, irritated by the prickle of disgust and fear that ran over him at the mere idea of dozens of tiny pinpricks being inserted into his skin.

“Pity,” the man said, straightening out his posture enough that Miggs could stop practically draping himself backwards over Peter’s side. “Best thing that’s ever happened to me, to be honest. Never felt so good in my life.” Miggs nodded awkwardly, trying to end the conversation now that he’d gotten what he’d wanted, but the man just kept talking, eyes a little hazy, as though he hadn’t quite realized Miggs wasn’t interested in what he had to say anymore. Eventually Miggs just turned away from him, scowling as the man just kept prattling on about how good he’d felt after the spa, basically talking into thin air.

“You getting that?” Miggs mumbled as Peter passed him the dice again. Miggs threw them blindly as Peter nodded absently, watching one of the dice bounce over the side of the table and the dealer scurry to go fetch it before it could be kicked out of sight.

A few rounds later, they slipped out of the game and switched to another table, and then the slots, Peter finding a woman who signed a little and chatting with her until she seemed to spontaneously forget everything about ASL the instant he mentioned the spa, Miggs awkwardly managing to cling to what little villain suave he had in order to get a bit more out of a few other patrons.

“So…” Miggs said, accepting the drink the cocktail waitress handed him this time and taking a long pull from it as he and Peter leaned against a couple of unoccupied machines, watching some of the patrons stumble around like they were drunk, others twitching and struggling to maintain composure. “Pretty sure that acupuncture package is our scheme.” Peter nodded, watching Miggs down the rest of his drink and leave the empty glass on top of the slot machine behind them.

“How do you feel about needles?” Miggs asked, and Peter shrugged, wiggling a hand palm down. “Don’t really care either way?” Peter nodded, and Miggs sighed. He doubted they’d have to get close enough for either of them to get drugged, but it was good that one of them wouldn’t have a complete meltdown if forced to be in the same room as some masseuse brandishing a box full of pins.

“To the spa, then?” Miggs asked after a moment’s hesitation, screwing up what little courage he had. He didn’t actually need to have the acupuncture package, just get them close enough that he could use his chemical analyzer to figure out what the hell they were dosing up the patrons with. Peter nodded, slipping an arm around Miggs’ waist when he pushed off the machine to reel him in against Peter’s front.

Miggs didn’t even think to protest as Peter pulled him into a kiss, hands tangling in Peter’s shirt as his husband slid their mouths together, chaste and slow, nothing scandalous, but still more than enough for Miggs’ heart to skip into a higher gear. Miggs let out a soft sound of pleasure as Peter pulled briefly on his lower lip before letting go, breaking apart to look at Miggs with hooded eyes.

“Keep looking at me like that and we’ll go back to the cabin instead,” Miggs muttered without thinking, and Peter’s eyes darkened, one eyebrow lifting in challenge. Miggs flushed and ducked his head, swatting at Peter’s chest gently. “Don’t be a dick.” Peter hummed, taking advantage of Miggs’ exposed neck to press a few kisses to the hickies peeking above the high collar of his turtleneck. Miggs shivered before pulling away, trying to keep his head in the game and wondering why Peter seemed completely ready to totally disregard the mission in favor of making out some more.

Miggs managed to resist Peter’s charm enough to pull away, leaving his husband to follow as they left the casino and headed along the ship and to the upper deck where the spa was, and despite the hour, where a line over two dozen people long stretched.

“Oh, fucking great,” Miggs deadpanned at the sight, earning a huff of amusement from Peter, who herded him gently into line, nodding briefly to draw Miggs’ attention to a few people in line who looked about ready to jump out of their skin with eagerness to get inside the spa rooms.

Miggs leaned against Peter as they waited in line, shivering a bit when Peter ran a hand down Miggs’ back to tease at the edge of his pants, distracting him as they waited. Miggs did his best not to get hard as they slowly made their way up to the doors and then inside.

The interior of the spa was elegantly decorated, all cream walls and shiny wood floors, an oblong desk with a pleasant looking woman manning it, fingers with brilliantly red nails clacking away at her keyboard every time she processed a guest before either sending them back with someone in a blue and white uniform or shooing them gently out the door with a slip of paper.

When Miggs and Peter reached the front of the line, she gave them a friendly smile that immediately made Miggs feel a little uncomfortable; her teeth were unnaturally white and straight, stark against her creamy skin in a way that made him think of the bleached incisors Madame Macabre wore around her neck at villain conventions to freak out newbies.

“Welcome, gentlemen! Are you first time visitors to the spa, or returning patrons?” she asked, and Miggs’ shining reply of “uh” apparently inspired an explanation, since she launched into a long-winded speech that sounded like she’d memorized it by heart as a child and recited it every day since with zealous enjoyment. “The spa package is so popular on the ship, first-timers are given priority and walk-in appointments, allowing them to experience the full range of amenities the facility has to offer immediately upon their wish to. Return guests are rescheduled for a later time, allowing everyone time and space to enjoy the spa without overwhelming the staff and supplies.”

“Right,” Miggs said blankly, trying to absorb her words after the speed at which she’d uttered them approached that of light. “Uh. First timers.”

“Names?” she asked sweetly, fingers poised above her keyboard.

“Miggs and Peter Orso-Ortega,” he supplied, feeling a bit like a helpless thing caught in the tide of the ocean. Whatever would happen in the spa, it was too late now, and the impending threat of possible needles was making him a bit light-headed.

The receptionist inputted their names and waited a brief moment before smiling brilliantly at them.

“Tammy can help you both,” she said, waving them past her desk to a small waiting area. “She’ll be with you momentarily.” Miggs awkwardly shuffled along in front of Peter when Peter nudged him, perching on the edge of one of the seats and anxiously tapping his fingers against one of his knees. Miggs twitched when Peter caught his fidgeting hand, turning to see a frown spreading over Peter’s features.

“Nervous, I guess,” Miggs mumbled when Peter gave him a quizzical look. “I don’t….like needles.” Peter’s frown deepened and he nodded again, still looking a little confused. “No, I….I really, really, _really_ don’t like fucking needles, Peter. As in the last time I went to a doctor they had to sedate me just to draw blood. It’s….sort of a violent phobia of mine,” he admitted weakly, and Peter’s expression cleared before turning concerned. Miggs grimaced and shrugged.

“It’s not like they’ve got to stick any in me, I just need to get close enough to get a sample,” he mumbled, rubbing a couple fingers over the bridge of his nose to hide the movement of his mouth from the bright-toothed receptionist, who’d glanced over at them between running patrons through the computer. Peter nodded again, tangling his fingers with Miggs’ and pulling Miggs’ hand to his mouth to brush a kiss over his knuckles. Miggs relaxed a little, fear buoyed by the confidence that Peter would protect him if anything went screwy in there.

“Orso-Ortega,” a voice called, and Miggs looked up to see a woman with short brown hair and wire-rimmed glasses standing with a clipboard in front of two pale blue double doors with no windows, smiling blandly at them.

“Here,” Miggs said, not knowing why he felt like he had to respond when so far, they were the only couple sitting in the waiting area.

“We’re ready for you,” the woman, Tammy, Miggs assumed, said, gesturing for them to follow her.

Taking a deep, steadying breath and clinging to Peter’s hand, Miggs stood up and prepared to plunge into what was surely the heart of the Kellers’ scheme.

Tammy led them through the double doors, glancing over her clipboard as she held the door before walking ahead of them, blue kitten heels matching her uniform exactly.

“The spa offers a full range of services, everything from massage to mud baths, and the facility’s programs and staff are among the top rated in the world,” Tammy said, gesturing at the doorways as they passed, some of them opening into rooms tiled with patterns that matched the staff’s uniforms, pools of steaming water in the floor, a couple of people lounging in them in blue bathing suits with the Keller’s logo stamped on the shorts or tops. Other rooms showed empty massage tables beyond open doors, and what looked like a sauna in the process of being cleaned.

“Our most popular packages are our acupuncture, and the one to two hour massage sessions, which include trigger-point-therapy, Swedish, sports, and deep tissue massages, along with hot stone treatment, and time spent in the sauna and baths room, which offers a range of amenities within themselves, including jet pools and the mud bath,” Tammy rambled, leaving Miggs’ head spinning a bit as he tried to figure out exactly what he needed to say to get her to show them the needles without sticking any in either of them, especially Miggs.

“Are you here for anything specific?” Tammy asked as she waved them in front of her into a room with two massage tables inside, the floor gleamingly clean and a couple cupboards set along the wall behind them.

“Acupuncture?” Miggs said dumbly, and Tammy smiled brightly, turning around to open one of the cupboards and pull out a white box about the size of her hand, fastened shut with a clip and combination lock.

“Our acupuncture packages include half hour to two hour sessions, each needle inserted by hand into one of the many pressure points on the body to relax and rejuvenate you,” she said, using her thumb to rotate the lock until she could pop the lid open. Miggs tried not to feel too sick at the thought of hundreds of tiny pinpricks all over his body, swallowing weakly as the woman held up the box for them to inspect. “Each needle is sterilized and coated in a homeopathic oil mixed and applied by Mrs. Keller herself.” The box had a rectangle of small white tubes sticking out of foam, each tube containing a needle as long as Miggs’ fingers, the first half of them coated in what looked similar to crystallized honey.

Miggs stared at the box, trying to swallow down the urge to vomit at the thought of that many needles going into his body, all of them probably tipped in poison.

“Of course we offer….um. Sir? Are you...alright? You’re looking a little...green.” Tammy eyed him nervously, and Miggs pressed his lips tightly together so he wouldn’t puke, but still couldn’t stop the revulsion that shuddered through him so hard he staggered, legs giving out enough that he fell into Tammy, knocking the box out of her hands and sending the needles flying and scattering them all over the floor as she cried out in surprise.

Miggs gasped for breath, on his hands and knees, tile cool under his palms. He wanted to press his face against it, he felt horribly warm, dizzy to the point that the world felt like it was rocking wildly under him.

“Sir!” Tammy spluttered as Peter quickly knelt down by Miggs’ side, one hand on his back and the other cupping Miggs’ cheek to bring his face up to look at him.

“I’m okay,” Miggs huffed, reaching up to put his left hand over Peter’s on the side of his face. Miggs watched Peter’s eyes widen as Miggs pressed the plastic tube containing a needle into the back of his hand, hidden in Miggs’ palm. Peter slowly helped Miggs back to his feet, and Miggs watched Tammy scramble to collect the scattered tubes.

“I’m sorry, I think I need to go lay down,” Miggs said to her, leaning on Peter and slipping the stolen tube into his pocket.

She spluttered a protest but Peter put his arm behind Miggs’ back and quickly hurried him out of the room, trying not to look like they were running from anything suspicious as they left the spa. The desk attendant frowned at them but Miggs just did his best to look as sick as possible as Peter ushered him away and she didn’t stop them. They took it at a normal pace back to their cabin, not wanting to stick out from the crowd.

Once back in the cabin, Miggs pulled the needle out of his pocket and grimaced.

“I told you I hated these things,” he grumbled, and Peter’s face pinched in concern, stepping forward to cup Miggs’ face and look him over. “I’m _fine,_ just a little self-induced panic attack. We got the needle, just like I planned.” Peter scowled, tugging out his notepad to scrawl **_Risky._ **

“I never said it was an _elegant_ plan,” Miggs said, rolling his eyes. “Now, let’s see what Mrs. Keller has the whole ship hopped up on.”


	21. Chapter 21

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> lmao i wrote like 7k in one night last week so hopefully we'll have some steady updates until the end, bc we're officially starting to head into the home stretch of hyp!! (after like. more than a year oh my god). For those of you here for the porn, this is the last chap of it for a while, the plot picks up next chap and then just like. _does not stop_ for a bit there fjiaoefeds but yeah!! only took me like 9 months and quitting/losing (??? it was kinda a messy end tbh) the job i had so. yeaahhhhh. sorry im rly unreliable about updates :')

Miggs slid the needle into the analyzer, scraping the honey-like substance on the tip of it onto the inside before pulling it out again and putting the needle back in the protective sleeve. The analyzer beeped in his hands, inner mechanisms whirring as it processed the substance, breaking it down into a chemical code that scrolled in bright green letters over the black screen on the front. Miggs snagged Peter’s notepad from him, mumbling to himself as he started scratching out notes on a blank page, eyes glued to the analyzer’s screen as it broke down the sample. 

Miggs’ head felt heavy and fuzzy, and he shot the needle sitting on the nightstand a sour look. Despite knowing what to expect and how to handle it, the panic attack had left him feeling a bit wiped out, and he longed to crawl in between the sheets with Peter and take a nice, long nap. They didn’t really have the time though. 

Miggs had almost two pages of notes and equations and scribbles when Peter pushed a slip of paper under his nose, torn out of what looked like a complimentary notepad he’d found in one of the drawers. 

**_U know ur sitting right in view of the cameras, right?_ **

He looked up to see Peter looked a little concerned, a little irritated, but mostly tired. 

“It doesn’t matter anymore,” Miggs said. “This’ll be over before morning.” Peter frowned, reaching out to cup Miggs’ jaw, fingers lingering on his cheek and the soft lobe of his ear. Miggs resisted the urge to close his eyes and melt into it. They had so little time left, and he wanted so desperately to keep this, Peter looking at him like this and touching him like this, like they were in love and married and _happy_. 

“It’s some kind of opiate,” Miggs said with a sigh, looking back down at the analyzer, which was still spitting data. Flipping through his cramped notes, having automatically written them in the shorthand he used for his villain activities, he tried to put together everything the analyzer had told him into simple sentences. He’d have to teach Peter to read his shorthand someday, if this mission didn’t make being friends, or even nemeses, too awkward. 

Using his pen, Miggs circled a couple things and scratched a line down to connect it to another part of his notes, frowning. “It’s similar to heroin, but not quite as devastating to the system. It’s compounded to give the user a high, and it’s  _ extremely  _ addictive. So. Yeah. Definitely villain activity.” Miggs sighed and set the analyzer aside and slumped to the side, pressing his face into the comforter. Peter made a soft sound of concern, the bed dipping as he leaned down to stroke Miggs’ hair. 

“I just…it’s not like Ian,” Miggs mumbled rebelliously. “I don’t understand.” Peter hummed, still petting at Miggs' hair in comfort. 

Miggs sighed, pushing himself back up to look at Peter, whose brow furrowed as he frowned at the expression on Miggs’ face. 

“You ready to catch the bad guys then, Peter the Panda?” Miggs asked, watching the familiar cold look flicker over Peter’s face. Peter nodded, withdrawing his hand from petting Miggs’ head to reach into the drawers and pull out his fedora. Miggs climbed off the bed and joined him, watching Peter push his hair off his forehead and settle the hat on top of his head. He glanced up at Miggs, looking a strange mixture of Miggs’ friend and enemy, fedora above sunglasses and cool expression. 

“There’s my nemesis,” Miggs joked, trying to crack a smile and instead just sort of grimacing as his voice did the cracking instead. Peter’s mouth twitched down at the corners, hesitating. Miggs mentally shook himself. It was just the mission, just the job, just his nemesis, just his  _ friend _ . He needed to get his feelings under control or he was going to spend a week in bed with ice cream when this was all over, and that was just too pathetic. 

“I almost missed you,” Miggs tried to laugh, patting Peter’s chest awkwardly and stilling when Peter caught his wrist. There was the old instinct to yank free, but Peter just pulled him closer and then cupped Miggs’ face with one hand, drawing him into a kiss. Miggs was still under Peter’s mouth for a moment, trying to reconcile Peter his friend, Peter the Panda his nemesis, and Peter his husband into one person in his head without much success. They’d spent so long keeping the halves of their lives separate, it was hard to bring them together like this, even after days of pretending. This wasn't Peter his friend practicing kissing him, this wasn't Peter the Panda laying between his legs faking a blow job, this was just _Peter,_ and Miggs' heart jumped in his chest, racing like it had somewhere to be ten minutes ago. 

Peter made a soft sound as he kissed Miggs, curious, concerned, a little needy. Miggs melted at the thought of Peter  _ needing  _ him. 

“We can spare a few minutes, I think,” Miggs mumbled, wrapping his arms around Peter’s neck and kissing him back. Peter made a pleased sound, drawing Miggs in tight to his body and kissing him again, mouth hungry and a little rougher than usual, nipping at Miggs’ lower lip hard enough to make him whimper. Miggs’ head felt like it was spinning a little, clinging to Peter’s shoulders and hitching one leg up against Peter’s side, grinding against him. 

Peter moaned, one hand grabbing Miggs’ thigh and squeezing, holding his leg against Peter’s hip as he slid his other hand down Miggs’ body to grab his ass. Miggs gasped as Peter leaned into him until Miggs fell back onto the bed, Peter’s teeth knocking against his lower lip. Peter barely seemed to notice, pressing messy, increasingly desperate kisses against Miggs’ mouth, chin, and throat, scraping his teeth along the column of Miggs’ neck, over the collar of hickies he’d left there in the past few days. Miggs arched underneath him, hips bucking up to grind against Peter’s stomach. Peter growled and grabbed Miggs’ hips, sliding him a bit further on the bed and hooking his hands into Miggs’ waistband. Panting, Miggs arched and squirmed until Peter pulled his jeans off, stripping him from the waist down so fast Miggs felt like he’d blinked and was suddenly half-naked. 

Peter hummed at the sight of Miggs sprawled on the bed beneath him, flushed and breathing hard. His eyes were dark behind his glasses, the brim of his hat casting a shadow over his face that made Miggs shiver. The different sides of Peter Miggs knew were getting all mixed up; he could see Panda over him, calm and collected and calculating, but also his Peter, warm and hungry for him, desire tenting his pants and burning in his eyes. 

“Please,” Miggs finally groaned, dropping his head back and clutching at the sheets, trembling as Peter dragged his hands over the soft skin of Miggs’ bare thighs. “Fuck, Peter,  _ please _ .” Peter hummed and leaned down to pepper kisses along Miggs’ hips and legs, keeping his mouth away from Miggs’ thickening cock, teasing. Miggs choked and then arched when Peter sucked a hickey on the inside of his thigh, kissing the spot apologetically when Miggs inhaled sharply through his teeth at the amount of biting Peter was implementing. 

“ _ More _ ,” Miggs demanded, earning a pleased growl and more eager bites until he looked down and saw Peter crouched between his knees, mouth wet and eyes hooded, Miggs’ inner thighs covered in bruises and marks from Peter’s teeth, darker than those on his neck. 

“Fuck, I’m not gonna be able to take my pants off without thinking of you down there for fucking  _ weeks _ ,” Miggs rasped, dropping his head back and shifting his hips restlessly. Peter rumbled low in his chest, the sound making Miggs shiver. It was pleased and possessive, Peter’s hands stroking over the marks on his skin as if proud. Miggs probably wouldn’t even be able to get a rebound fuck for a while with the way Peter was marking him up. 

Miggs looked back down when Peter moved, getting to his feet and rustling around in the drawer before he found what he was looking for. Miggs mouth went dry with anticipation when he saw the bottle of lube in Peter’s hand, watching him flick it open with his thumb. 

“Are…are you going to…?” Miggs entire body trembled with raw  _ need _ , unable to even articulate how much he wanted Peter to fuck him,  _ really  _ fuck him, and instead he just stared as Peter reached down to spread Miggs’ legs. Miggs eagerly opened up for him, breath coming harsh and fast as Peter watched him, mouth curling with pleasure. Miggs almost wished Peter could talk; he’d give almost anything for Peter to praise him, order him, tell Miggs exactly what Peter wanted him to do. Instead Peter just petted at Miggs’ knee, giving him a burning glance that was just as good, making Miggs go soft and pliant under him, every bit of him relaxing except his cock, which twitched and dribbled precome onto his stomach. 

He desperately wanted to reach down and stroke himself, but he had the feeling Peter wouldn’t let him, so he didn’t try, instead knotting his hands in the sheets by his head, hips wiggling, trying to entice Peter into touching him by drawing his knees up to his chest. He blushed when Peter stilled to watch, eyes roaming over the fork of Miggs’ legs before glancing up at his face. Peter smirked, lowering the bottle of lube a little as he reached down with his free hand to brush his fingers over the length of Miggs’ cock before ghosting it down between his legs to brush lightly at his cleft. 

“Fuck, please!” Miggs gasped, hips jumping as Peter gently circled his entrance with one blunt, dry finger. Peter didn’t try to push in, just teasing him, stimulating him, making him groan and tense, wanting both more and less of the light touch. “Peter,  _ now!” _ Miggs demanded, earning a soft laugh. Peter withdrew his hand and Miggs let out a pathetic whimper, looking down between his spread legs to see Peter turning the bottle of lube over to start drizzling it over Miggs. Miggs flinched as the cool, viscous liquid dripped over his cock and sac and thighs, enough that it was going to drip down his body and stain the sheets and leave everything a mess. 

“Wh-what are you—” Miggs gasped as Peter grabbed his ankles and brought his legs together, holding Miggs’ feet in the air at his shoulder with one hand. Miggs squirmed a little as Peter used one hand to undo his pants and push them down enough to get his own cock out. Miggs whimpered and fidgeted as Peter failed to go any further, stroking one hand along his dick and pinning Miggs’ ankles to his shoulder with the other, watching Miggs pant and bite his lip, glancing between Peter’s face and his hand on his cock. 

“Please—please,  _ please _ , Peter, I want—I want you,  _ need  _ you to touch me,  _ please— _ ” Miggs groaned when Peter turned his head to press a soft kiss to the top of Miggs’ foot, the brim of his fedora bumping against his toes before Peter arched his back a little and pushed his cock into the wet, tight space between Miggs’ thighs. Miggs whimpered and pressed his knees together as Peter slowly started to move, sliding his dick through the warmed slick coating Miggs’ skin. Miggs moaned and dropped his head back again as Peter pushed forward, the head of his cock pressing against Miggs’ sac and then sliding against the base of his dick, which felt good, but was hardly enough to get him off. 

“ _ Fuck _ me, you bastard,” Miggs ground out, tensing his legs to lift his hips and try to fuck himself onto Peter’s cock, sliding Peter’s dick between his legs a little harder. Peter growled, grip tightening on Miggs’ ankles as he tossed the lube aside to grab Miggs’ hip with his other hand and hold him steady, hips starting to roll in a slow, easy rhythm. Miggs snarled and arched his back, ignoring the twinge in his spine at the stretch and the burn in his legs from holding himself up, using his grip on the bedsheets to force Peter to fuck him a little faster. 

“Put your back into it,  _ Panda _ ,” Miggs snapped, guts feeling a bit twisted up, lust and love and pain and the vestiges of his panic attack making everything inside him feel screwy, not helped by the knowledge that this was probably the last time he’d have Peter like this. 

His nemesis growled low in his throat, an angry sound, and Peter tightened his grip and spread his own legs a little before increasing his pace and strength, making Miggs cry out with every thrust as he started to fuck the crux of his thighs eagerly. Miggs arched into it, imagining Peter pounding into his ass like that and trembling at the raw hunger that fantasy inspired in him. 

“Want you to fuck me,” Miggs choked as Peter held him in place and used him, breathing hard, the only gentle thing about this last, frantic fuck the press of Peter’s lips against his ankle. “Want you inside me, Peter, please,  _ please _ , I don’t care, I _ need you _ , please!” Peter growled, dropping his hand from Miggs’ hip to drag it through the lube dripping between Miggs’ legs to drag some of it down the crack of his ass, rubbing at his entrance. 

Miggs cried out and jerked, trying to pull his ankles free of Peter’s grip so he would focus more on opening Miggs up to take his cock rather than fucking between his legs. Peter growled, nails digging into Miggs’ skin as he tried to hold him still, the sound all Panda, frustration and irritation and desire. Miggs snarled back, trying to smother the part of him that wanted to wail Peter’s name, beg him to fuck him, make love to him, stay with him, stay  _ married  _ to him, and pulling what he could of his Professor Mystery persona together to combat Peter’s Panda. Twisting his hips, Miggs managed to kick one leg free and wrap it around Peter’s waist, letting go of the sheets to grab Peter and yank him down on top of Miggs by the front of his shirt. Peter let go of Miggs’ remaining leg so he wouldn’t break his hip or something, and Miggs wrapped both around Peter’s waist, grinding against him and smearing lube all over his waist and crotch as he dragged Peter into a messy kiss. 

Peter groaned into it, seeming a little surprised but not turned off by Miggs’ aggression, rolling his hips into Miggs’ and whimpering when Miggs deepened the kiss, opening his mouth to slide his tongue into Peter’s. Breaking the kiss with a gasp, Miggs tugged at Peter’s shirt until he managed to pull it off, running his hands over Peter’s shoulders and arms and chest, scratching through his body hair and tweaking at his nipples until Peter gasped and jerked his hips forward. 

“Want your mouth,” Miggs mumbled, embarrassment making him flush but pure lust and knowing he’d never get this chance again driving him forward. “Want you to lick me open and then fuck me until the whole ship can fucking hear me screaming.” Peter stilled and swallowed audibly, looking up at Miggs with wide eyes that were nearly black with unfettered need. “I want to ride your face and then your cock, w-want you—” Miggs didn’t get to finish, nerves choking him when Peter pulled back, but he was just quickly stripping out of the rest of his clothes before grabbing Miggs and shoving him further up onto the bed before crawling after him, manhandling Miggs into kneeling above Peter. Miggs blushed furiously as Peter grabbed his hips and dragged Miggs up until he was kneeling over Peter’s face, both of them panting. 

“Fuck,” Miggs whispered, staring down at Peter with wide eyes and trembling with both fear and desire. Peter glanced up at him, looking almost lost from how wild with need he was, petting at Miggs’ hips and giving him a concerned look. “I—I didn’t think you’d _ — _ I _ —fuck _ !” Miggs gasped when Peter turned his head and kissed at the bites he’d left earlier on the inside of Miggs’ thighs, tongue darting out to drag against his skin to the soft, sensitive fold where his thigh met the fork of his leg. Peter made a slight face at the lube clinging to Miggs’ skin but continued to mouth at him anyway, growling deep in his chest as he licked at Miggs’ sac and then his perineum, hot and wet and ripping a guttural sound of need from Miggs’ throat. Peter moaned and quickly escalated his efforts, pulling Miggs’ hips down towards his face and tilting his chin up to slowly drag his tongue along the crack of Miggs’ ass. Miggs cried out and his hips twitched, trying to grind down against Peter’s mouth. Peter moaned and slid his hands from Miggs’ hips to his ass, fingers gripping his flesh tight and pulling him gently apart and down, pressing his tongue to the hot furl of muscle there. 

_ “Fuck!” _ Miggs shouted, grabbing the headboard with both hands to steady himself as Peter started to lap at his opening, tongue hot and eager as he started up at Miggs with dark, hooded eyes. “Oh, fuck,  _ fuck _ , Peter!” Peter moaned, encouraging Miggs to grind down against his mouth and Miggs hesitantly did so, moaning as Peter started to push his tongue inside, the half of his face Miggs could see going dark and soft with pleasure. 

“God, you  _ like  _ that,” Miggs whispered, shuddering as Peter hummed, the vibration racing through his body from where Peter was circling his hole with his tongue. “Fuck!” Peter moaned again, squirming underneath him and dragging his tongue against Miggs’ entrance, hands tugging at squeezing at Miggs until he started to rock his hips down against Peter’s mouth. 

“ _ Nnngh— _ God,” Miggs gasped, trembling all over and struggling against the hot coil of orgasm deep in his gut. “Y-you okay? B-because—I’m—I can’t—I can’t promise I’ll be gentle if you really g-get me going,  _ cariño _ .” Peter moaned and twitched, eyes rolling back a little as he started to eagerly mouth at Miggs’ entrance, like he wanted nothing more than for Miggs to grind down against his face and use him as much as Peter had been using him earlier, fucking between his legs. 

“Jesus Christ, why can’t I keep you,” Miggs breathed, watching and shaking as Peter ate him out like he’d been dying to do so since the day they’d met. Peter whimpered, pulling Miggs down onto his mouth, kissing and sucking and licking at his rim until he felt wet enough that it was dripping down his crack and between his legs, probably back onto Peter’s face which most likely wasn’t pleasant, but Peter didn’t seem to care. Miggs arched and let out a strangled cry of pleasure as Peter let go of his ass with one hand to slowly push a finger into him. Peter moaned at the tight heat of him and Miggs shuddered at the pressure and slight burn. It’d been awhile since he’d had anything but his own two fingers deeper than the first knuckle inside him, and Peter’s fingers were a lot thicker. 

“Fuck,” Miggs hissed, rocking a little, working Peter’s finger into him until it was sheathed to the base. “Fuck, I want your cock so  _ bad _ , Peter.” Peter moaned beneath him, nodding and starting to work his finger in and out of Miggs’ body, slicking it with his tongue lapping at the rim, tiny whimpers escaping him when Miggs started to rock on his hand. “More!” Miggs gasped, and Peter obliged, sliding a second finger in along with the first. Swearing, Miggs rolled his hips, biting his lip at the stretch but too desperate to stop. Peter looked like he was reaching his breaking point as well, watching Miggs with starving eyes as he worked the two fingers inside of him, twisting and using his thumb to swipe lube from between Miggs’ legs towards his hole to slick him further. 

“I can’t wait anymore,” Miggs choked, lifting up off Peter’s mouth and hand, scrambling down his body to sit astride Peter’s hips, grabbing the lube from where Peter had dropped it on the bed. He quickly warmed a palmful of it in his hand and then coated Peter’s cock with it, trembling with need as Peter moaned and dripped precome from the slit. Miggs dragged his tongue over the head, whimpering at the taste before scrambling to line Peter up with his entrance. 

“M’gonna ride you till you can’t see straight,” Miggs mumbled, holding Peter’s cock steady with one hand as he sank down onto him. Peter gasped and shuddered, throwing his head back and his hips twitched up into Miggs. Miggs bit his lip against the burn and stretch, he wasn’t nearly open enough for this to be easy, but he bore down and took the head of Peter’s cock into his body anyway, determined to have this at least once if everything was ending tonight. Miggs slid down to the base and sat in Peter’s lap, chest heaving as he felt Peter’s cock buried in him to the hilt. 

“Oh, God,” Miggs huffed and Peter moaned, hands coming to grip Miggs’ knees hard enough to bruise. He was clearly resisting the urge to fuck up into Miggs, clenching his jaw and watching Miggs’ face with burning eyes. He was still wearing his hat, and Miggs did his best to swallow a giggle. 

“Ever think you’d be here?” Miggs rasped, and Peter gave him a confused look and Miggs failed to contain his laugh, a little bit of hysteria slipping through. “Ever think you’d be balls deep in me? Your  _ nemesis _ ? On our  _ honeymoon _ ?” Miggs laughed again, tears pricking at the corners of his eyes. He wanted Peter, but not quite like this. He’d wanted him forever. Too bad he only got him for a few days. It was just his luck, though. Nobody had ever stayed with Miggs as long as Peter had, even just as friends. He supposed he should count his blessings or whatever. 

Peter made a soft, concerned sound, reaching up to cup Miggs’ face with his clean hand. Miggs grabbed it and pressed his face into Peter’s palm, taking a shuddering breath, tightening around Peter’s length. 

“Feels a bit like a dream,” Miggs mumbled, almost to himself before rolling his hips, grinding on Peter’s cock and moaning at the slight burn but deep satisfaction he felt from the thick length of Peter inside his body. Peter trembled, limbs twitching and shaking with every grind of Miggs’ hips, his eyes rolling back into his head when Miggs clenched around him, squeezing and trying to memorize this moment. It’d be all he had left, later. He knew he wouldn’t find it so then, but right now, with Peter buried inside him and whimpering helplessly, it was  _ almost  _ worth the end of their friendship. 

“C’mon, Peter,” Miggs mumbled, lifting off Peter a little, both of them moaning at the wet, slow slide of Peter’s cock out of his body. “Fuck me,  _ mi amor _ , fuck me _. _ ” Miggs took full advantage of Peter not speaking Spanish as Peter growled, bracing his feet on the bed and lifting his hips to snap them up into Miggs. He cried out, arching as Peter started to fuck him, strong, fast thrusts quickly driving them both a little mad. 

“Yes! Yes,  _ yes _ , yes, just like that!” Miggs cried, bracing his hands on Peter’s chest and bouncing his hips to meet Peter’s eager thrusts, both of them racing towards the edge. “Yes, Peter, c’mon, give it to me, I want you to come inside me, please,  _ please _ , I want it so bad—!” Miggs arched and let out a choked scream when Peter moaned, grip on Miggs’ skin bruising and desperate, hips pumping relentlessly, a slight shift in angle dragging the head of Peter’s cock right over Miggs’ prostate. 

“Oh, fuck!  _ Fuck _ , I’m—” Miggs gasped and grabbed at Peter hard enough that he was probably pulling out his chest hair as he bowed and slammed his hips down on Peter, taking him as much as he could as he started to come, completely untouched. Peter made a weak little sound at that, watching Miggs streak wet and thick over Peter’s stomach as his body convulsed around his cock. 

“Oh…” Miggs gasped, swaying a little as he felt like something had burst behind his eyes, bright and making him tremble on top of Peter. Peter moaned and reached up to pull Miggs down into a kiss, slow and sweet as he rocked his hips up into Miggs’ body, fucking him gently enough that Miggs didn’t get overstimulated, just whimpered into Peter’s mouth, tasting lube and the faint tang of himself on Peter's tongue. 

“Want you, want you so  _ much _ , please, please,” Miggs huffed, squirming against Peter, reaching back with one hand to feel Peter sliding in and out of his body with a wet sound every time. “God. So good.” He felt almost delirious, his orgasm having blown what felt like all his sense straight out his ears, leaving him a needy, desperate puddle on top of his husband. 

“Don’t stop,” Miggs whimpered, shuddering as Peter groaned. “Don’t ever stop. Want you, so much, so  _ so  _ much, Peter please, wanna keep you— _ oh! _ ” Miggs gasped as Peter jerked and pressed a hand against his lower back, holding Miggs down against him as he pushed as deep as he could get and started to come, spilling thickly inside Miggs. Peter groaned as Miggs melted on top of him, mumbling a litany of Peter’s name almost like a prayer, sliding down to lay on top of Peter and press helpless kisses to his skin. Peter let out soft sounds of pleasure as Miggs touched him, his hands coming up to stroke Miggs’ sides. The word  _ afterglow  _ took a bit of a new meaning for Miggs, everything feeling soft and quiet and  _ perfect  _ for a few moments. Despite the faint pain in his ass and the soreness of his muscles and the sweat and cum and slick drying out and making him itch, he never wanted to leave this moment, listening to Peter’s heartbeat under his ear, feeling his lungs lift and fall with every breath, whimpering a little as Peter’s hands brushed over his skin. 

“We’re out of time,” Miggs murmured, not really putting any effort into moving. They’d been out of time before they’d started this, racing against the clock, and now every second they spent here was less time they had to expose the Kellers and save Peter’s spotless record with O.W.C.A. and probably his assignment to Miggs as his nemesis. Miggs had no doubt O.W.C.A. would revoke their assignment if they thought Peter and Miggs were getting “ _ too close. _ ” With Peter’s come still dripping out of his body, Miggs almost wanted to laugh. 

Instead he lifted his head with a weak breath, leaning down to kiss Peter with hooded eyes. Peter looked a little wrecked, hat falling off his head onto the pillows, his hair wild and curling over his forehead and his face still flushed from their eager coupling. 

“What I wouldn’t give,” Miggs muttered, noting Peter’s eyes were distant and empty, as if he’d checked out for the moment, “to see you like this every day.” Peter stirred a bit and Miggs kissed him again, earning a soft, happy noise, something caught between a tiny laugh and a purr. Miggs kissed him harder at that, desperately wanting to burn this time together in his brain so he could recall it with searing accuracy for the rest of his life. If he couldn’t keep Peter, he at least wanted to keep  _ this,  _ the memory of them together. 

Miggs sat up with a soft groan and slid off to the side, hobbling into the bathroom to quickly clean up. They didn’t have time for a full shower so he just wet a cloth and quickly wiped down the worst of it before leaving the bathroom to toss the damp rag onto Peter’s stomach and start pulling on clothes. 

“Can you try to find the Keller’s private quarters through the TV? Or maybe just their location,” Miggs asked as Peter slowly started to wipe himself down and sit up, a funny look on his face when Miggs looked up from buttoning his pants. “Peter?” Peter blinked and then nodded, sliding out of bed himself to start getting dressed as well. 

“I’d prefer to do this as quietly as possible,” Miggs said, digging around in his bag for the few things he’d smuggled through the airport in case of a more difficult end to the mission. “But you know villains. We’re rarely subtle people.” Peter looked up and then snorted when Miggs held up a sleek, black rod about the length of his forearm. It had two functions: he could extend it out into a cane just long enough to pass as his own in case his back acted up, or one twist and bent joint turned it into a small, streamlined pistol with a button on the inside of the grip that would prompt it to shoot a concentrated beam that would incapacitate anyone it hit. He only planned to use it if things went really bad, but tucking it in the back of his waistband under his turtleneck made him feel a bit less defenseless. While he could hold his own in a fist fight, he was no martial arts master like most O.W.C.A agents, and there was no telling how violent a cornered villain could get. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> as always, if you notice any [brackets] or errors pls let me know, i've been doing most of my own betaing lately bc doc's been rly busy w school and i'm not as good at catching my mess ups and stuff as they are :') much love for all yall reading this <3


	22. Chapter 22

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> THIS IS TECHNICALLY LATE BC I PLAYED OVERWATCH ALL DAY AND FORGOT IT WAS WEDNESDAY SORRY

They were in the spa. 

“Looks like they’re restocking their needles,” Miggs said, frowning as he watched the Kellers sort through a couple of boxes and put small white ones into the various cupboards, apparently talking and laughing between themselves. Miggs wished the feed picked up audio, but he could only guess at what they said when they were turned toward the small camera, mouths moving as they spoke. “Can you find their private cabin? I’d bet money the laptop or whatever is in there. Might be a tablet? Dunno if they’d use something so small…” Peter hummed, and twisted at his watch, thumb swiping over the surface as he moved the window of security feed to the corner in a smaller size and brought up the maps with the security cameras marked on it he’d used the other day. Starting at their offices he started searching in broad sweeps, eventually coming upon a larger-than-average cabin near the front bow of the ship labeled  _ Keller Suite.  _

“That’s it,” Miggs said, peering at the screen and making a mental note of the fastest route to get there without being seen by too many of the cruise’s patrons. “Okay. Here’s the plan.” Peter gave him a bit of a look, eyes narrowing as Miggs stood up straight. “You stay here.” Peter shot to his feet, shaking his head.  _ “Yes _ , because I need you to keep an eye on them.” Miggs jabbed a finger at the screen where the Kellers were still messing around with their inventory, something that could potentially keep them busy for a while, but wasn’t really a guarantee. “You’re the one with the watch and I’m the one with the pistol, so I go, and you stay. You can text me if they leave, and I’ll get out of there, I promise.” Peter scowled, glancing between the O.W.C.A. watch around his wrist that Miggs couldn’t use and Miggs himself. “You can keep me safer by staying here. If we both go, we won’t know if they’re coming.  _ Please _ , Peter.” Peter stared at him for a long, slow moment, and sweat just began to prickle at the nape of Miggs’ neck before Peter sighed and nodded. Miggs grabbed his arm in relief, trying to reassure Peter. 

“Don’t forget I play on this side of the fence too,” Miggs said, grinning as he squeezed Peter’s shoulder. “You’re not the only one with a double life. I’ll be back before you know it, and we’ll have what we need to have them make an arrest when the extraction team gets here.” Peter nodded, reaching up to cup Miggs’ face briefly before Miggs turned and left the cabin. 

It felt strange walking along the ship by himself; he’d spent most of his time with Peter, and become accustomed to him always being right there beside him. Still, this wasn’t a real vacation, it was a mission, and Miggs pulled himself together as best he could, taking the stairs down to the fifteenth floor and following the hall down to the very front of the ship and picking the lock to the staff-only staircase. He climbed them back up to the second floor, wheezing heavily as he went and wondering if Peter was watching him as he paused to catch his breath on the fifth floor. He threw a weak middle finger at where he was pretty sure a camera was before continuing. He peeked out from behind the staff door to make sure the coast was clear, slipping out to shut it behind him and making his way to the Kellers’ suite door. It wasn’t any more ornate than the door to Miggs and Peter’s cabin, a simple knob and old-fashioned lock making it an easy pick. There was a black sensor at the top of the door, so before he stepped inside Miggs pulled out his pistol and aimed it at the base of the thing, shorting out its wires. Hopefully he’d slip in and out before the Kellers got the memo that one of their security features had malfunctioned. Miggs quickly ducked inside, pulling out his phone to send a text to Peter. 

**_Update?_ ** He asked before looking around the suite. It was significantly larger than the cabin Miggs had become acquainted with over the last few days, clearly meant for someone to live in for an extended period of time. There was a small kitchenette to Miggs’ right, and a short glance revealed it had received the same treatment as Miggs’ kitchen at home: the microwave and coffee pot looked the most used, the stove like it’d never even been turned on. There were some papers stuck to the fridge with magnets, and Miggs checked over them quickly, finding a couple brochures from the cruise, one of which he recognized from the file Hoffman had given them on this case, an in-progress shopping list that had  _ coffee  _ written on it three separate times, and a cluster of pictures, mostly of Ian and Patricia with various guests on the cruise. 

Miggs moved on, leaving the kitchenette to check the dining table, which had a few binders and open books on it. His phone buzzed and he looked down to see Peter had responded. 

**_No change._ **

Nodding to himself, Miggs set his phone down on the table as he flicked through the binders and books, noting some tax forms and a couple manuals on engines for the yacht. The laptop was nowhere to be found so far, nor any tablet or even a phone. Scowling, Miggs hurried into the sitting area, digging through the TV stand and finding nothing but DVDs and a shelf of Dr. Lloyd Wexler books that looked like they hadn’t been thumbed through in a while, from the dust settled on top of them. 

Miggs snorted and turned to the coffee table, finding the remote for the TV and a couple dishes that hadn’t made it to the sink in the kitchen yet. He turned on the TV, but as far as he could tell it was a normal set, left on some channel playing Dr. Feelgood. Rolling his eyes, Miggs switched it back off and headed for the bedroom, which was an entirely different room from the rest of the suite. The large bed inside was unmade, a nightstand to each side cluttered with various items. The side closest to the door held a pill organizer, a couple bottles next to it. Miggs picked one up and found it was medication for Ian, and he almost wanted to fling it across the room. Ian  _ was  _ sick, if he had medication here like this. Maybe, possibly, he didn’t know what was going on. Maybe Miggs could find enough evidence that Ian wasn’t behind any of this at all and save him at least from being dragged down by O.W.C.A. again, if not the heartbreak of his wife’s betrayal. 

Setting the pills back down, Miggs looked over the rest of Ian’s nightstand, finding a spare pair of glasses with a bent ear piece, some gum, and a couple old paperback novels in his side drawer, along with tissues and condoms. Miggs made a bit of a face at the latter and moved on, walking around the bed to Patricia’s side. She didn’t have any medication laying out, just an alarm clock and some magazines, most of them villainous in nature but nothing out of the ordinary for a couple of villains that had survived until retirement. Remembering Mrs. Keller’s squeaky-clean O.W.C.A. file, Miggs wondered how much of her life was fake as he pulled open the drawer for Patricia’s nightstand and froze. A sleek, black laptop was nestled inside, on top of what looked like a phone book. 

Mouth going a little dry and resisting the urge to celebrate just yet, Miggs crouched down by the drawer, running his hands along the edges and underside. He found what he was looking for underneath, a small round knob that when he got down to look, twisted in one direction with a small click. Miggs hesitantly got up and slowly pulled the laptop out of the drawer, knees going a little weak when he saw that the phone book was a dummy, the inside cut out to hold a small bomb that would have gone off right in his face and destroyed the laptop completely if he’d just pulled it out of the drawer straight off. 

Setting the laptop on the bed and kneeling on the floor, Miggs opened it up and tapped his fingers anxiously against the wrinkled sheets as it turned on. He tapped the spacebar to pass through the welcome screen, lowering his head in pure disbelief at his luck when there was no password to try and hack through. Miggs never would have thought he’d be so thankful for someone’s overconfidence in villain tech and laziness. He pulled out the small blackberry he’d used on Patricia’s decoy desktop computer and plugged it into the laptop, starting up the search. It started to vibrate madly almost immediately, pulling up file after file after file. 

Miggs stared at the screen, mouth gaping a little as he tried to absorb everything that was flicking across the display. Dropping the blackberry on the bed as well, Miggs started sifting through the windows the program had pulled up, eyebrows climbing his forehead as he went. 

Miggs’ heart tightened in his chest as he found the program Patricia Keller had used to fake her identity, the decrypter on the blackberry pulling apart the documents in a spray of white and green text to show doctored birth certificates and IDs, all the information carefully edited. Miggs’ breath seized in his chest at the simple Word file filled with words like  _ poison _ , and  _ double doses _ , and _ heart failure _ , simply titled  _ Barlow Problem _ , a more detailed version of the hand-written note in their hard file, apparently. A brief note had been added to the first line, stating that Patricia hadn’t been sure the Barlows were agents, but she was suspicious enough that it would be better to kill them in a tragic ‘accident’ then let them continue to be a possible threat. Miggs made a mental note not to drink anything else the remainder of their time here. 

From there, Miggs found Patricia’s notes on her acupuncture serum, which had apparently taken her some trial and error, the perfected mixture of which she was currently using on… _ Ian.  _

Miggs pressed his face into his hands and blew out a breath, feeling hilariously trapped between a rock and a hard place. While he had wanted exactly this, for Patricia to be guilty and Ian simply another victim _ , this _ …the knowledge that his wife had lied to him and manipulated him and used him and  _ drugged  _ him, was going to break his heart, probably far beyond repair. It was the second time she’d done it to him, after all. 

Miggs closed the laptop, satisfied it had enough evidence on it to convince O.W.C.A. of Patricia Keller’s guilt and Ian’s innocence, getting to his feet and sliding the laptop under the back of his turtleneck to hide it as he left. Miggs froze, one hand settling the laptop under his shirt, when he heard the door to the suite open quietly.  _ Fuck _ . Why hadn’t Peter—

Miggs realized abruptly that he’d left his phone on the fucking dining table like an  _ idiot _ , and that Peter was going to  _ kill him _ , because he’d essentially gagged Peter and made him useless, the exact opposite of what Miggs had promised.  _ Double fuck.  _

“Don’t try anything,” came Patricia Keller’s voice, steady and calm. “I’m armed. Come out with your hands where I can see them.” Miggs considered pulling out the pistol in the back of his jeans, but he had no idea what Patricia was armed with, let alone if he was lucky enough to get a shot in before she returned fire. Swallowing weakly and hoping she didn’t kill him on sight or realize he had her laptop under his shirt and take it, Miggs slowly walked out of the bedroom with his hands up by his head. 

“You?” Patricia looked confused, a cut-and-dry regular gun in her hand, probably a semi-automatic .44 from its size. 

“Me, yeah, uh,” Miggs said, nodding and rocking back and forth on the balls of his feet awkwardly. “You were probably expecting someone else.” 

“That Barlow dyke, yeah,” Patricia said, rolling one hand on her wrist in a dismissive gesture. “I wasn’t sure, turns out I was wrong. Lucky them.” Miggs awkwardly nodded, wondering what she was planning on doing with him. If he knew anything of villains, he could probably keep her talking long enough for Peter to get there, but one misstep and she would probably shoot him. Which, obviously, was something he  _ really  _ wanted to avoid. 

“Your name isn’t Patricia, is it,” Miggs asked and she smiled at him, like a grandmother at her favorite grandchild that had just asked an adorable question. 

“Of course not,” she said, gun not wavering as she walked towards him. “On your knees, please. You’re much too tall for me to reach all the way up there.” Swallowing weakly, Miggs did as he was told, getting down on one knee and then the other, lacing his fingers behind his head as Patricia put the gun to his temple with a soft nudge of cold metal against his sweating skin. Not good. 

“Ian  _ moved on _ ,” Patricia said, the last words coming out sarcastic. “We were married before, actually. A long time ago.” 

“I know,” Miggs said weakly, staring blankly at the carpet. 

“You  _ know _ _?”_ she asked, a bit of a sneer in her voice. “How would  _ you  _ know?” 

“I introduced myself to you at the ball,” Miggs said weakly. “My name is Miggs Ortega. Ian didn’t remember me, but he remembered my father. Well, a little.” 

“Bernie Ortega,” Patricia said blankly before snarling in sudden realization. “You’re that little  _ brat _ !” Miggs struggled not to flinch as Patricia shoved the barrel against his temple. “I left Ian to teach him a lesson, that he couldn’t do anything without me, and you and your stupid  _ family  _ messed it all up! Told him he could do anything, taught him how to be a villain like your idiot parents. Everybody knows how well that turned out for  _ them _ .” Miggs didn’t say anything; Bernie and Denise had been alumni of Eville University and relatively well-known in the community itself. Their sudden departure to space must have been the gossip of the year, but he’d been too busy being an abruptly-orphaned child to really remember, and then the shuffle into foster care had removed him from the villainous circles in the country for a long time. 

“I should have realized that it was  _ you _ ,” she snapped, sounding frustrated before a sharp, high laugh escaped her. “Who’d have thought, the son of the people that taught my Ian how to be a villain growing up to be an  _ O.W.C.A.  _ agent. That’s who you’re working for, isn’t it? O.W.C.A.? Can’t imagine who else might have picked up what’s going on yet.” 

“Uh, sorta, I mean, I’m here because of O.W.C.A.—” 

“Your husband, the big silent guy, oh God, he just  _ screams  _ agent, how could I have been so blind,” Patricia huffed in frustration, Miggs tilting his head slightly in panic as she pressed the barrel harder against his head. “Still, impressive that I’ve generated enough concern that they sent two of you after us. We’ll be one for the books, won’t we! Especially when we get out of here scot-free.” She laughed, and Miggs felt sweat starting to gather at the small of his back under the small, warm laptop as he fought to keep the panic in his guts down to something manageable. It wouldn’t take much longer for Peter to get here and save him, and then everything would be okay. He hoped.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> lmk if i missed any [brackets] or mistakes <3


	23. Chapter 23

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> guess who wrote a whole bunch of hyp :U and since there was such a long hiatus for a while there, i'm probably gonna aim towards updating a few times a week??? idk it will (barring any unforeseen circumstances) be updating at least once a week but if ive got the buffer and the inclination, i'm gonna try to update more bc i'm excited, we're starting to get close to the end here folks :D

“I’m not an agent, Jesus Christ, ease up,” Miggs gasped and Patricia pulled back on the gun enough that he could set his head straight again, relieving a bit of strain that had begun to build in his neck.

“How d’you mean,” she asked, and Miggs scrambled to find an excuse, but there wasn’t one.

“I’m a villain, like you,” Miggs sighed, glancing up to see her lift an eyebrow, mouth pursing in disbelief. “No, really! I’m Professor Mystery. Y’know. The arms dealer?”

“M?” she squinted at him, gun brushing against the curls sticking to his forehead as she moved to get a better look at his face. “He always wears a mask. You’re not wearing a mask.”

“Because I’m working with O.W.C.A.,” Miggs insisted. “Look, check your bed, I left my scanner in there. It’s my tech.”

“I’m not stupid enough to leave you alone,” Patricia snorted, jamming the gun hard against his forehead.

“Just—” Miggs’ heart leapt with relief and elation and fear as the door to the suite opened again.

But it wasn’t Peter, it was Ian.

“Patty, you left in such a hurry, I got worried—uh.” Ian froze, mouth falling open as he let go of the door to let it swing shut behind him as he took in the scene in front of him.

“Uh, hello,” Miggs said weakly from where Patricia was still holding a gun to his forehead as he knelt in front of her.

“What the hell? Patty, what’s going on?” Ian asked, voice strangled and higher than normal as he dropped his keys on the dining table by Miggs’ phone and the books on the yacht’s engines.

“Great,” Patricia sighed after a second. “Just great! I told you to stay in the spa,” she snapped, and Ian looked wounded.

“I was worried—I don’t _understand—_ ” he began, and she let out a long, exasperated sigh.

“Just…just be _quiet_ , okay, you’ll forget about this in a few days like everything else, honey, just let me take care of this first,” Patricia said, pointing firmly towards the bedroom.

“What? _No_! Patty, what is going on—?”

“Her name isn’t Patricia, Ian,” Miggs said, wincing when Patricia turned on him and shoved the gun so hard against his forehead he was pretty sure it was going to bruise.

“Shut up,” she hissed. “Or I’ll shoot you right here, the carpet be damned.”

“Patty!” Ian cried, and Miggs squeezed his eyes shut, hoping Patricia wouldn’t actually shoot him right then.

“Her name is Elise, Ian. She’s Elise. She’s _always_ been Elise,” Miggs braced himself for the shot, but it never came.

There was just the quiet, ringing silence that comes with the worst sort of secrets coming to light, no one breathing, no one moving. Miggs cracked his eyes open after a second, looking up to see Elise glaring down at the carpet, red-faced and teary-eyed. A glance at Ian showed him white as a sheet.

“That’s not funny,” he said after a second, sounding like he’d swallowed a fistful of broken glass. “This isn’t funny at _all_ , Patty.”

“It’s not a _joke_ , Uncle Ian!” Miggs snapped, stress finally making him crack a little when Ian didn’t face the truth of the situation.

“What— _Uncle—?_ ” Ian sputtered, a bit of color returning to his face as he switched his bewildered gaze to Miggs.

“You don’t remember me,” Miggs said weakly, eyes turning toward the gun in Elise’s hand, which was beginning to shake a little. “I’m Miggs Ortega. My father’s name was Bernie.

“You got me a plasma globe for Christmas, Uncle Ian. _Please_ .” Miggs shut his eyes, struggling against tears pricking into being from fear and grief. It was hitting harder this time, when he wasn’t trying to keep the secret anymore, when it was out there, that Ian knew, but didn’t really _know_. Peter had been right to be angry and suspicious, Ian had been like family, and in twenty years, Miggs had known little of anything like family. It hurt to be this close to it and still not have it.

“Miggs. _Miggs._ ” Ian said, sounding a bit confused and then a little choked up. “Oh, God, you’re _Bernie’s_ boy, all grown up. Oh, Christ. Oh, God, you look just like him, how did I not—”

“Your wife has been drugging you, Ian,” Miggs cut him off, arms trembling a little from keeping them held up behind his head for so long. “She’s been dipping your Alzheimer’s pills into that same thing she puts on the acupuncture needles, it’s been making you sicker—”

“That’s _enough_!” Elise shouted, pulling the gun back from where she’d been holding it against Miggs’ forehead, getting steadily redder until she hauled back and backhanded Miggs across the face with the barrel. There was a loud crack of metal against skin and bone, and Miggs tasted blood as his teeth cut into his cheek from the blow. His head snapped to the side and he slumped, hands falling from the back of his head to grab his cheek, inhaling sharply at the pain but managing to keep the agonized howl down to a gurgle, afraid to incite her further.

“You’re going to take the word of some _stranger_ over me?” Elise screeched, burying the muzzle of her gun among the curls behind Miggs’ ear and he didn’t move from where he was half-curled on the ground, holding his face. He wanted to spit, blood was filling his mouth, but he was afraid to draw attention to himself right this second, so he swallowed it with a grimace instead.

“Patty—Elise—?” Ian stumbled over his words, turning paler and reaching up to cover his mouth. “Oh my God.”

“You’re such an _idiot_ , Ian!” Elise snarled, scraping Miggs’ scalp a little with the barrel of her gun. “You _never_ remembered me like you did with those _stupid_ Ortegas! I was going to come back for you, but you went and tried to _make something of yourself_ , went and made up the _Scarlet Scorpion_ ,” her tone turned mocking and Miggs watched Ian wilt a little out of the corner of his eye, “and we all know how well _that_ turned out for you, you ended up a _laughing stock_ , too sick for your nemesis to even throw you in prison. And then you were even _worse_ at being a _normal_ person, you were nothing without me, just like I _knew_ you’d be!” Elise’s voice turned shrill, and Miggs slowly managed to sit back up, though she kept the gun pressed against his skull by his ear.

“But—I don’t—”

“I know, I know, you _don’t understand,_ ” Elise mocked, balling up her other fist. Miggs flinched away from the gun, hoping she wouldn’t squeeze the trigger by accident in her anger. She didn’t, just continuing on her tirade. “You think _you_ made this business a success? You think if I’d let you do more than pretend to be the head of the company we’d have made any money at all? You’re a failure, Ian, so I had to pick up the slack. I made a real villain of myself, and made us rich enough to spend the rest of our lives on our own private island if we wanted in the process. It’s _always_ been me.

“And _this_ guy’s messed up my plans,” Elise hissed, turning her attention back to Miggs and making him wince. “Just like his family’s _always_ done, annoying lot.” Miggs didn’t say anything, managing to hold his tongue for once in his life as Elise used the gun barrel to turn his face up towards her. She was looking at him curiously, still red-faced and angry, but a little confused as well.

“Ian, there’s something sitting on the bed, go get it,” she snapped, pressing the gun against the underside of Miggs’ chin and making him tilt his head back. Ian hesitated, and Elise turned her head to glare at him. “ _Now!_ ” Ian scuttled into the bedroom and out of sight for a brief moment, returning with Miggs’ modified blackberry in one hand.

“Give it to him,” Elise moved the gun so it was pressed against Miggs’ forehead again. “No tricks. Just whatever you wanted to do to prove you’re M.” Miggs took the blackberry from Ian, who was staring at him with a face so white his lips were turning pale. Miggs did his best not to look concerned as he lifted the blackberry and showed Elise the screen, where the grey and black **_M_   **logo sat, verifying his alter ego.

“Well I’ll be damned,” she murmured, taking it from him to stare for a moment before tossing it aside. “Professor Mystery, in the flesh.”

“The…wait, the _arms dealer?_ ” Ian rasped, putting a hand to his head. “I thought you had to be a-a—an _agent_ , or something, someone with O.W.C.A.!”

“I’m…assisting O.W.C.A.,” Miggs said with a shrug, words a bit slurred from his swelling cheek and lower lip. “I’m not here as Mystery, I’m here as Miggs Ortega.”

“What I don’t understand is why you’re doing it,” Elise said, peering at him. “You’re a _villain_ , what are you doing working against your own kind? Your own potential customers? Now I’m really glad I didn’t order from you, would have given the whole gig up. You a double crosser? You always come so highly recommended.”

“I’m not a _snitch_ ,” Miggs hissed, insulted that she thought he’d be the kind to turn his clients over to O.W.C.A. “I’m doing someone a favor.”

“Who?”

“My…my nemesis. He does covert ops like this sometimes, and no one was supposed to know I was helping him,” Miggs admitted awkwardly, and they both stared at him. “Look, it’s _complicated_ , okay!”

“So your, your husband, he’s your _nemesis_?” Elise demanded, looking like she was struggling to wrap her head around the idea as much as Miggs himself did sometimes.

“Yeah,” Miggs mumbled. “I said it was complicated.”

“I’ll say!” Ian said with a hysterical laugh.

“Shut up, Ian!” Elise snapped. “So why? You’d do a favor for your nemesis, and turn on your own? I don’t…” She paused when Miggs felt himself flush a bit and look down. Peter wasn’t just his nemesis. He wasn’t doing this favor for his nemesis. He was doing it for _Peter_. Because he loved Peter, and because while Miggs did want to help Peter, he also knew a tiny, selfish part of him had seized this situation for exactly what it was: a chance to be closer to him.

“Oh,” Elise said, her mouth curling cruelly as she started to laugh, pushing the gun hard against Miggs’ forehead so he was forced to look up at her. “Oh, this is _precious_ . You _love_ him. You wanted him so badly you used this,” she waved her free hand around to indicated the ship and herself and Ian, grinning widely, “to get close to him. I understand. You’re just like _me_.”

“I’m _nothing_ like you, bitch,” Miggs spat, and she grinned, seeming amused enough not to take offense at his name-calling.

“Oh, but you are! You _are_! After all, I love my Ian, I love him so, so much I gave up everything I was to be with him again. Changed my name, my hair, my personality, made it all up! You’re doing the same thing,” she laughed, gesturing at him a little with her hand as she shoved the gun under his chin again so he couldn’t look away. “You knew going in this was a couples cruise, didn’t you? And I’ve got the footage to prove you weren’t at all averse to falling in bed with him. Naughty of you, using him like that. Quite evil. I’m almost impressed.” Miggs felt a bit sick and shut his eyes, almost wishing she would shoot him just to escape this.

Miggs knew he had taken advantage of Peter, that he’d done so knowingly and even eagerly at times. It’d been reciprocated, at least a little, at least _physically_ , but Miggs knew Peter, knew that he got a leg over almost anyone willing, and that he’d only not made a move on Miggs before because they’d been nemeses and friends first. Miggs had thrown all that out the window the moment he’d decided he wanted more from Peter than he was willing to keep in the long run.

“Ah, see,” Elise said softly, gun sliding along his jaw to scrape up his cheek, catching the tear that slipped from Miggs’ closed lashes. “You know it. You just didn’t want to admit it. Seems you’ve got a bit of good in you, too. Shame. It’s probably what brought you here in the first place, where you’re going to die. A real pity.”

Miggs squeezed his eyes shut tighter, fisting his hands in his lap. He’d failed. He was going to die, Elise was going to get away or worse, take Ian down with her when Peter eventually showed up and arrested them both. Miggs knew Peter wouldn’t have much trouble subduing Elise; he’d fought people with guns before and knew what he was doing, not like Miggs. Miggs talked his ways out of situations like this, and he’d failed this time. Too bad.

He wondered if Peter was going to miss him as much as Miggs was going to miss Peter.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> lmk if you noticed any mistakes or [brackets!] <3 thanks for reading <3


	24. Chapter 24

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> YAAAAAAAAALLLLLLLL GUESS WHAT I FUCKIN FINISHED THIS MONSTER YESTERDAY LMAO it's 28 chapters total and i'll be posting a chapter about once or so a day until it's complete. i cant even tell yall how im feelin about that i havent finished a fic this long in years im just/?? im really hoping you guys like how it pans out and ends. <3 
> 
> **BTW CONTENT WARNING: there is character death and some gore in this chapter.** If that's a thing that ya cant deal with, please tread with caution. If you'd like to know where to skip or summarized version of the chapter, pm me on @pandashrine on tumblr and i'll help you out  <3

Miggs braced for the gunshot, but it never came. 

Instead, there was a loud bang, and his eyes flew open to see the door to the suite had opened again, and this time it was Peter, hat nearly falling off his head and eyes wide with wild panic behind his glasses. He had a gun as well, a black thing bigger than Elise’s, and he pointed it at her as soon as he was in the room. 

“Ah, ah, ah! Don’t do anything stupid, agent!” Elise cried, grabbing Miggs by the hair and shoving her gun against his face again. “I’ve got a hostage. He’s a villain, but you’re responsible for him, aren’t you? He said  _ you  _ asked him to come here.” 

“Peter—” Miggs gasped, reaching up to try and yank Elise’s hand out of his hair and getting the butt of the gun tapped harshly against his cheekbone for his trouble. “ _ Shoot _ her!” Peter hesitated, barrel wavering between Elise to Ian, who was leaning on the counter in the kitchen, looking like he might be ill. 

“Don’t look at me, _ I  _ didn’t know!” Ian cried when he noticed Peter looking at him. “I’m  _ retired _ , I had nothing to do with this!” Peter frowned, glancing between Ian and Elise. 

“He’s telling the truth, Peter, shoot—” Miggs cut off with a rasp when Elise switched her grip from his hair to his throat, nails digging into the ring of hickies there, making them hurt, and not in a good way.

“Easy, agent. We can have a nice, civilized conversation,” she said, holding the gun to Miggs’ head with a steady hand, “or I can blow his brains out right in front of you. I mean, if you’d prefer the second one, I can still do that. Might be nice not to have a nemesis, right?” Peter paled as Elise spoke, and she cooed above Miggs, hiding most of her body behind his as she gripped his throat and held the gun’s muzzle against his tacky skin. 

“Put the gun down, agent, and step away from it,” Elise ordered, and Miggs hissed in frustration through his teeth as Peter immediately crouched down and set the gun on the carpet, holding his hands out as he took a couple steps back. 

“Well, how shocking,” Elise said with a slick smile. “I’ve managed to defeat the agent O.W.C.A. sent after me already, what a success! I’ve pulled off one of the most bountiful financial scams in the world, with just a gun and a little heroin. A couple more identity changes and we can do it all over again someplace else, be even richer! Doesn’t that sound nice, Ian?” 

“Are you  _ kidding _ ? Are you actually serious?” Ian cried, rubbing his hands over his face. “I retired! I don’t  _ do  _ this anymore! I got too sick! And apparently you’ve been making it  _ worse _ , according to him!” 

“It was just to keep you under control, Ian, don’t be a drama queen,” Elise snapped, her grip on Miggs’ throat tightening momentarily as Ian let out another hysterical laugh. 

“I thought we were making an honest living, doing something we loved and enjoyed! Surrounding ourselves with people in love because  _ we  _ were in love!” 

“We  _ are  _ in love!” Elise cried. “We’ve  _ always  _ been in love, and I came back for you and took care of you—” 

“You  _ lied _ ! About everything, you’re not who I thought you were, you never have been!” Ian shouted, color coming into his face as he shoved himself to his full height, wild hair and beard bristling with his ire. “I loved a fake, a sham, a  _ story _ ! Nothing more, Elise!” Miggs flinched when Elise squeezed his throat hard enough to make it impossible for him to breathe, reaching up and trying to pry her fingers lose. 

“I gave you  _ everything _ !” Elise screeched, finally letting go of Miggs’ throat to throw her arm wide, managing to keep the other hand pointed more or less at Miggs’ head so her threat to shoot him was enough to keep Peter from moving. Miggs stared at him, breath coming rasping and short as Elise and Ian hashed it out. Miggs was pretty sure he looked a mess, what with Elise clocking him across the face with her gun and his cheeks streaked with tears and a bit of blood on his mouth. Peter somehow managed to look perfect, as usual, if a little windswept. His face was drawn tight with concern, his agent training pulling the expression towards icy and furious, and Miggs found himself suddenly, achingly, full of regret that he’d never told Peter how he’d felt. The gun barrel scraped against his temple and Miggs wanted to tell Peter exactly how he felt about him, every raw, aching bit of it. 

_ I love you. You saved me, you’re everything to me, I love you so much it’s killing me. _

It should have been  _ easy _ , he should have done it as soon as he’d realized. At least then Peter would have known, at least then Miggs wouldn’t have to die full of all the things he should have said. 

“Shut up, shut  _ up _ !” Elise yelled, shoving at Miggs and making him fall on his face as she stalked up to Ian. “You’re just an old, washed up fool and I was going to make you rich and happy and you’re  _ ruining it! _ ” Miggs scrambled to get his limbs under him, trying to make a run for Peter. He lifted his head to see Peter lunging towards him, and Miggs turned to see Elise taking a swing at Ian with the gun and Ian grabbing her wrist and things were moving so terribly fast Miggs didn’t know what to do. 

Miggs took in a sharp breath, panic and adrenaline pushing him to get up,  _ get up, _ get  _ away _ , managing to get halfway to his feet, watching Peter’s face turn horrified as he changed direction, trying to reach the Kellers. Miggs let the breath out, turning his head to look. They were struggling, Elise yanking on the gun as Ian held her wrist, their hands slipping as it disappeared between their bodies. Miggs started to suck in another breath, heart thundering so loud in his ears he couldn’t hear anything else and then—

The gunshot didn’t sound like a whole lot, it was a crack and a puff of air that made Elise’s hair fly up briefly before it fell, and everything went so terribly, terribly still. 

Miggs felt like he was falling through space, his self preservation instincts reporting that no, he hadn’t been shot, and he looked at Peter, who was white as a sheet, but he hadn’t been shot either, which was good, that was good but then who got—

And Miggs looked back to the Kellers and saw red dripping down to the carpet, staining it at their feet. Ian stumbled a little and Miggs’ heart felt like a lead ball in his chest, dropping to his feet as Ian slowly slumped down to his knees, Elise clinging to him. 

“No, no no no  _ no _ , I didn’t—” Elise heaved, grabbing at Ian’s side and shoulder, hands coming back red with blood. Her chest started to swell and lurch with sobs, tears spilling down her round face. “I didn’t, I didn’t  _ mean  _ to, I only meant—no, no not this, not like  _ this _ , I wasn’t going to kill you,  _ never  _ you, please—” 

“Shh,” Ian hushed her, looking wan and strained, reaching up with one hand to cup the back of her head, pulling her close to press a kiss against her forehead. “It’s okay.” Elise sobbed and Ian took her hands in both of his, the gun glinting a little in the low light. 

“Uncle Ian,  _ don’t— _ ” Miggs choked, and Peter was moving again, the shock clearing enough that Miggs knew what was going to happen, Peter did too, he was lunging forward to stop it but—

There was another shot, and Miggs saw Elise jerk, blood blooming on the back of her shirt, dark like a flower spreading its petals. Miggs heard her choke briefly and then she went still, slowly going lax in Ian’s arms as he set the gun aside and wrapped both arms around her shoulders, propping his chin on her head and closing his eyes, tears streaking down his cheeks. 

“It’s okay,” Ian whispered after a long moment, rocking a little and holding Elise’s body. “It’s okay. She never would have stopped. She  _ never  _ would have stopped. She didn’t stop in seventy years, why would O.W.C.A. or prison stop her? She’d just come back. She’d come after you.” Miggs swallowed weakly, knees buckling a little as he slowly sank back down to sit on the blood-spattered carpet. 

“It’s okay,” Ian said again as Peter picked up his own gun to come closer, crouching to take Elise’s weapon and move it out of his reach. “I won’t fight you, agent. I stopped fighting a long time ago.” Ian slowly opened his eyes, pale gaze meeting Miggs’ where he was staring at him helplessly. “I’m sorry. It’s okay now. I’m so sorry, my boy.” Ian’s face crumpled a little, hands going tight on the wet back of Elise’s shirt as he held her a little closer, tears falling from his eyes in earnest now. Miggs’ throat closed up, his eyes stung, but he didn’t know what to say, instead watching the man he’d hoped to save at least a part of crumple in front of him like a house of cards in a light breeze. 

Miggs looked up when Peter nudged him, taking the notepad Peter was holding out to him with a grim expression. Miggs looked over the note and suddenly felt like Elise’s hand was around his throat again, strangling him. 

“’Ian Keller,” Miggs read aloud, voice cracking a little and catching on the beginning of a sob, “I am required to inform you that you are under arrest as an accessory to Elise Keller, and for her murder.’” Ian didn’t say anything in response and Miggs lowered the notepad to bury his face in his hands. 

God, he’d fucked up so badly. 

“Get that light out of my eyes before I make you,” Miggs growled, making the EMT checking him for a concussion frown slightly. 

“Looks like you’re alright,” she said, lowering her flashlight and having him turn his head so she could check out the bruises blooming over the side of his head again. “Some swelling and tenderness, but keep the area iced and it’ll go away in a couple days.” 

“Thanks,” Miggs mumbled, glancing over to where the first helicopter was preparing to take off, Ian Keller loaded inside with a couple O.W.C.A. agents and several medical staff. “Is he…?” 

“He’ll be fine,” the EMT said, packing up her bag. “The bullet missed his vitals, it’s mostly a flesh wound. Some patching up and a blood transfusion and he’ll be right as rain.” Miggs nodded slowly, twitching when the EMT wrapped a thick blue blanket around his shoulders and moved off to see her next customer, one of the many on the ship affected by Elise’s heroin doses. 

Miggs looked up again when a shadow fell over him, finding Peter the Panda standing in front of him. His mouth was pulled down slightly at the corners, concern wrinkling his brow. 

“I’m okay,” Miggs sighed, reaching up to card a hand through his curls before dropping his hand to his lap again. “Just some bruises.” Peter hummed, distant and emotionless and Miggs wanted to  _ cry _ , but instead he just leaned forward until his forehead bumped against Peter’s chest, pressing against him. He smelled like blood and gunpowder and sweat, like leather and snow and  _ home _ . After a moment Peter reached up and wrapped a hand around the back of Miggs’ neck, holding him, and Miggs melted against him. 

“Peter, I need to tell you, I—” Miggs began, almost a mumble, but the rumble in Peter’s chest told him he was listening. “I’m…I lo—” 

“Agent Panda!” 

Miggs almost wanted to  _ scream _ , sitting up straight to see Hoffman striding toward them with purpose, frowning a little as the helicopter holding Ian Keller started up, buffeting her hair and crisp pantsuit. 

“I just wanted to say—” she paused as the helicopter started to take off, creating too much noise and wind for any conversation to survive for a moment before it lifted away and headed back for land, and the hospital. 

“I wanted to say—” Hoffman looked a little sour as a second helicopter came in to land, cutting her off again and throwing her previously-neat bob into all sorts of disarray before the helicopter shut down again. 

“Ahem,” Hoffman cleared her throat delicately and continued, “It wasn’t ideal, but you got the job done, I suppose. Good work. Sort of.” Peter shrugged and Miggs rolled his eyes, and Hoffman pursed her lips. “Also, I’ll get the divorce papers started processing as soon as we’re stateside again.” 

Miggs went still, staring at her until she nodded awkwardly and walked away, climbing into the waiting helicopter, which was probably meant to take Peter and Miggs back to the airport to catch a flight back to Seattle as well. 

With a sigh, Miggs slumped forward again to lean against Peter. It felt eerily like a guillotine was hanging over them, counting down the seconds until he couldn’t do this anymore. Technically he was already past that point, but Peter didn’t seem to mind, petting Miggs’ hair. His wedding ring bumped against Miggs’ scalp, and he glanced down at the pale band around his own finger. He hardly noticed it was there anymore, it felt like he’d been wearing it for years. He tugged at it a little, but it didn’t budge, just as stuck as the day he’d put it on. 

“I’m never taking this thing off, am I,” Miggs mumbled, mostly to himself. Peter made a soft sound, pulling back to see what Miggs was talking about and staring at the ring on Miggs’ finger.  Peter flushed, his calm and collected Agent persona slipping a little as Miggs stared up at him. Peter’s cheeks and ears darkened and he gave Miggs a partially bewildered but thrilled sort of look, reaching up to hesitantly cup Miggs’ cheek. 

“Agent Panda! Mr. Ortega!” They jumped apart as an O.W.C.A. operative materialized next to them, snapping a quick salute at Peter. Peter nodded, his position in the agency apparently high enough that he didn’t need to salute back. 

“The helicopter’s waiting, and all your luggage has been collected and put aboard.” The operative nodded toward the helicopter, where Miggs could see the suitcases he and Peter had brought with them sitting. 

“You idiots didn’t fuck with any of my tech, did you?” Miggs demanded, suddenly remembering the amount of villain paraphernalia he really didn’t want O.W.C.A. getting their hands on so they could pick apart his process and products more easily. 

“Well, uh—we took the laptop into evidence, along with some other villain technology we found—” the operative stammered, and Miggs swore, discarding the blanket and slipping past Peter to head for the helicopter, intent on getting his devices back. By the time he’d gotten to Hoffman and she’d agreed to release his things, they’d both been bundled onto the helicopter. Staring at where Peter was signing back and forth with another O.W.C.A. agent, Miggs felt his stomach slowly sink, knowing his chance to tell Peter how he felt was quickly fading into the distance. 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> thanks for reading let me know what you think ;* and lmk if i missed any [brackets] or errors <3


	25. Chapter 25

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> chapter 25, aka chapter miggs processes everything that happened and has A Little Bit Of A Rough Time. if you follow my twitter (also @pandashrine) you may have seen me mention this chapter a few days ago :V 
> 
> into the denouement then, dear friends.

Miggs thought the first night sleeping alone was going to be the worst. And it was pretty bad, he’d admit that. 

It was raining when they landed in Seattle, and Miggs had barely been able to sleep the whole trip. Instead he’d spent it pretending to snooze while curled away from Peter, fighting to quit being with Peter cold-turkey after days of selfish indulgence. He had been able to feel Peter’s presence tugging at him like a magnet all flight, and after the first short bout of sleep had ended with him waking plastered to Peter’s side as he dozed, Miggs had hardly been able to get any more sleep over the long trip back. He was almost dead on his feet when they stumbled off the plane, and Peter looked almost as tired as Miggs felt. They watched their luggage pass them by a good ways before Peter had caught himself and jogged to catch it before it disappeared back behind the wall. They shuffled out to where Miggs’ car was parked, dropped their bags in the trunk, and Miggs smacked himself in the face a few times so he’d be alert enough to drive Peter to his apartment and then himself home. 

Only one almost-accident later Miggs had dropped Peter off at his apartment and headed home himself. It was only when he was unlocking his front door when he realized Peter had kissed him goodbye, like a reflex, like the separation was just temporary. Miggs stared down at the key in his lock blearily, a flush filling his cheeks and sudden tears springing to his eyes. 

The interior of his apartment was dark and quiet and smelled a little stale from days of no one being through it. Miggs dropped his luggage by the door and left it there, stumbling into his bedroom and falling face-first onto the bed without even bothering to take off his jacket or shoes. 

It was very quiet for a long moment. He hadn’t turned on any lights on his way in, and he wasn’t quite sure if his eyes were open or shut, it seemed to be equally dark. The window was shut and he was alone. It seemed even the neighbors were asleep, silence pressing in on Miggs’ ears like a ringing mass of cotton wool. 

The sob that shook out of him sounded like it was clawing at the air in its escape, thick and wet and dragging. Miggs shook violently as his inhale shuddered and stalled before blowing back out in a harsh burst, the sheets under his face growing rapidly wet with tears and snot and saliva. His stomach hurt after only a couple minutes, abdominal muscles pulling tight with every breath, with every shuddering sob. 

It wasn’t all about Peter. 

His mouth tasted like blood when he turned his head to the side, a tiny bit of light from the street lamp outside filtering through the blinds and washing his bedroom in greys. Everything was blurry and he blinked a few times, trying to clear the tears even as his lungs heaved with grief. 

Miggs hadn’t meant for anyone to die. 

He knew it was sometimes part of the life Peter lead, that people got hurt, that people died. Miggs had had more than one scheme fail to be thwarted simply because Peter was busy across town at the evening burial of one of his comrades, sometimes because he was one of those carrying the casket. Miggs hadn’t questioned it more than that, because Peter hadn’t wanted him to. 

But Miggs hadn’t meant for anyone to  _ die _ . 

And she’d died, she’d held a gun to his head and threatened his life and she’d  _ died _ , and Miggs could still see the crimson flower blooming like an obscene peony over her back as she’d slowly fallen against Ian. Miggs felt horror and agony over Elise despite her being a massive bitch and possibly homicidal in his general direction, but it paled slightly in comparison to his grief over Ian. 

Family was so hard to forget. It blurred over time, the memory of his parents, diluted by distance and a dozen other pairs of parents in between. Ian had faded with them, but if Miggs really thought about it, he could remember, if only a little. If only enough to miss it. 

For it to hurt when it was dangling in front of him and he  _ missed  _ in the last lunge. 

Miggs curled up tight on his side, the edge of his shoe catching on his sheets with a tug. He buried his face in his arms, knotting his fingers in his own hair and struggling to regain control. He was a grown man, he shouldn’t be crying in bed like this, like a baby. No wonder Peter hadn’t been interested in him before all this, Miggs was a  _ mess _ . It felt like they’d forgotten that during a brief tryst that, had it not been so vivid, he’d think was a dream that had twisted horrifically toward nightmare at the end. 

Miggs grit his teeth against another heaving, choking sob at the thought of Peter. Fuck, he’d be lying if he said that didn’t hurt like a bitch, too. He’d tried. He’d tried to tell Peter how he felt, but missed his chance. Hoffman was going to file them for divorce and then Peter would go back to his normal life, hardly bothered by the past few days, while Miggs would never get over it because this was the sort of thing that made villains. It just extra sucked that he was having multiple cases of villain-creating-traumas in his life. 

After a bit, Miggs managed to calm down just enough to slip into sleep, exhausted.

* * *

 

He woke up well into the morning, back stiff and ankles feeling a little wonky from sleeping curled in the fetal position fully-dressed all night. Groaning, Miggs slid out of bed, kicking off his shoes before wobbling out into the kitchen, dropping his jacket on the floor as he went. Flicking the light on, Miggs grimaced, face feeling gummy and gritty and tight. He’d cried so hard his eyes hurt, and he squinted as he slowly went about the process of making coffee. He popped his back while he was waiting for enough to drip into the pot for him to make a cup, which turned out to be a mistake. His lower back felt the sort of plexi-glass cracking crunch when a joint that was too stiff to be popped attempted anyway with far too much force. 

Groaning, Miggs leaned on the counter, putting one hand to his damaged spine and whimpering. He laid his face on the faux marble countertop, which was just a bit too greasy to be pleasant. Making a mental note he was probably going to forget about to clean the fucking counters in his kitchen, Miggs watched coffee drip into the pot for a few minutes before slowly pushing himself upright to make a small cup. He shuffled into the living room and sat on the couch, pulling his knees up to his chest and balancing his coffee on them as he turned on his TV and brought up Netflix. He sipped at the coffee, staring blankly at the screen as his numb brain failed to absorb even a single second of the random episode of Space Adventure that had started playing automatically. 

Everything felt strange. Like the last week had been a dream. Like he was dreaming right now. The coffee burned his tongue, and he frowned. Miggs was pretty sure you weren’t able to eat in dreams. Did coffee count as eating? He decided it did, sipping at it again. When he finished the cup, he slowly unfolded from the couch, shuffling back to the kitchen. His stomach growled, but he barely noticed, making a full cup of coffee and returning to his seat. He recognized the episode as he sat down. It was one of the episodes that had played in the marathon a couple days ago, the one he’d sat and watched with Peter as they’d cuddled on that tiny fucking couch. 

The dingy second hand loveseat Miggs’ living room boasted felt enormous all of a sudden. 

Jumping to his feet and wincing when his sore back complained, Miggs hesitantly paced his living room for a second, lacking any other seating. He’d never needed more. Suddenly it felt like too much. 

Miggs ended up sitting on the floor, cross legged in front of the TV, probably too close to be good for his eyes. He zoned out some, his hand went lax and he accidentally spilled hot coffee on his foot. 

“Shit!” he yelled, jumping up and struggling not to spill the rest when he bumped ass-first into his coffee table on the way up. He fumbled, struggled, tried to catch himself, but twisted and fell over it anyway, landing just hard enough to jar his shoulder and end up face-first on the carpet between the table and the stupid loveseat. His coffee hit the sofa, the mug bouncing off the edge of the cushion before hitting the ground next to Miggs’ face to break into four pieces and a few shards. 

Miggs laid there for a minute, ass-over-ears between his couch and coffee table, holding his breath and feeling like the stupidest creature on the whole planet,  _ including  _ pigeons. 

After a brief recovery period, he shoved himself to his feet, almost not caring if he landed his hand or foot in the jagged shards of ceramic. With an indignant flail of limbs he was upright again, breathing hard, red-faced and with his back starting to scream at the abuse. It made his legs feel shaky and weak, and he caught himself groping for the steadying brace of a cane. 

“Fuck!” Miggs shouted, and that felt like it helped, a burst of anger, adrenaline,  _ noise _ , and he fisted his hands, pressing them to the sides of his head as he leaned back and hollered for all he was worth. “Fucking goddamn shithole of a fucking situation, I fucking hate everything about this last fucking week! Being in love sucks, I hate him, he’s my worst enemy and I want to punch him in the fucking face every time I see him for the next fucking year, and Elise Keller can go fuck herself the goddamn fucking cunt, she just had to fucking go and die, I hate her too!” Miggs ran out of breath and the last few words came out cracked and wheezing. Suddenly feeling out of breath, Miggs collapsed back onto his sofa, breathing hard and grimacing when his hand smacked against the cushion where his coffee had splattered. He felt so tired, despite having only been up a few hours. His face felt tight again, and he pushed the heel of his hand against his eyes, grimacing. They stung, and he wasn’t sure if it was because of old tears or upcoming fresh ones. 

Miggs would have done anything for a different outcome. 

Curling his knees up to his chest, Miggs wrapped his arms around them and buried his head, breathing getting a bit rough as his eyes burned and flooded, tears dripping down his cheeks. His back expanded and ached and heaved as he struggled for breath, every exhale choking off into a broken sound, mind spinning through all the things he should have done. 

The fact that he could pinpoint exactly where he had fucked up was the worst part. Where everything went wrong, and it was his fault and his fault alone. 

Miggs wanted to beat the shit out himself as he clearly recalled setting his phone down on the Keller’s dining table to search it and then walking away and  _ leaving it there. _ It’d been his only line to Peter, to his warning system if the Kellers headed his way. He’d gagged Peter, made him useless and distant and helpless for ages as he rushed to Miggs, and Miggs had fucked up everything with that one  _ stupid  _ mistake. 

Miggs bit his lip hard enough to taste blood, fisting his hands so hard he could feel his nails biting into his palms. He’d trade the whole week he’d had with Peter to go back and stop it. He’d pick up that phone before going into the Keller’s bedroom. He’d let Peter come with him and watch his back as he’d snooped through their drawers. He’d have said no at the very beginning of this whole affair, when he could pretend that he was okay with Peter being with other people, with Peter not wanting to be with  _ him _ . When he didn’t know what it was like for Peter to hold his hand and kiss him and fuck him and look at him like Miggs had shared the most precious thing in the universe with him for every moment of it. 

Miggs cursed Peter between a couple hiccuping breaths, damning him for being such a good actor, for asking Miggs to come with him on this mission. Miggs’ heart twisted bitterly, and he squeezed himself into a ball harder, hips and back aching, hands stinging, eyes drip, drip, dripping tears into his own lap fast enough to tangibly wet his jeans. 

He held the painful position for a few more harsh, struggling breaths, and then collapsed in a helpless flopping of limbs, a quiet keen of pain escaping his throat. Miggs sat slumped and sucking in shuddering, weak breaths as tears slowly trickled down his face for a little while, the sun passing its peak and making its way into the late afternoon sky. 

Miggs eventually got up and carefully plucked all the broken coffee cup pieces out of the carpet, managing to only stab himself once, pricking the pad of his left ring finger, making him swear loudly and stick it in his mouth. 

His wedding ring clacked against his teeth a little painfully, and he yanked his hand out of his mouth to stare at it. Gritting his teeth and blinking back a fresh wave of tears, Miggs grabbed the ring with his other hand and tugged on it, pressing his hands to his solar plexus and pushing his elbows out and together as he struggled to pull the ring off. It was well stuck past his second knuckle though, pain radiating from the joint he was trying to pull it past with every second. He could feel his skin beginning to bruise and split around the edge of the ring and he stopped with a gasp, arms dropping to his lap. He stared down at the ring, suddenly desperate to get it off. Miggs didn’t want this reminder, this taunting piece of symbolism on him for a minute longer. 

Hobbling into the kitchen, Miggs slicked his hands with soap and water, applying it liberally his finger and trying furiously to yank it off again. His knuckle was starting to swell from the abuse, making it more difficult, and he got frustrated enough to lean on the counter again, sniffling and fighting the urge to kick something. 

Fuck, he hated this. This was worse than he’d thought it’d be. Probably because he’d inadvertently killed someone and sentenced someone else to the rest of his life in prison on top of fucking everything up with the man he loved. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> lmk if i missed any [brackets] or mistakes ;Oc


	26. Chapter 26

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> bit of a bridge chapter so it slows down a little in here from the last couple :U though (especially for those of you who like ian) the next chapter is a bit more interesting, imo ;0 just 3 chapters left!! are yall excited

The second night sleeping alone was actually the worst. 

Miggs was too tired to cry himself to sleep by the time he went and laid back down, much earlier than he usually would. He stared up at the ceiling blankly, body under the blankets and arms folded on top of it over his stomach. 

He numbly made a mental checklist of all the things he needed to do, half-hoping it would bore him to sleep. Call the school and tell them he was back sooner than expected, go back to work. Probably do a grocery run, his stomach had spurred him into looking for food and all he’d found in his pantry was a twisted shut half-package of crackers and a jar of peanut butter that was half empty. The fridge had only a mostly-empty bottle of ketchup and a box of butter he hadn’t opened yet, so he ate crackers and peanut butter for dinner. He didn’t want to do that again, it’d been terrible. So maybe groceries. At least pick up more frozen dinners. 

Try to get over Peter. Try to get over being responsible for Elise’s death and Ian’s incarceration. Try not to visibly appear as big of a mess as he felt. Maybe even get some sleep. 

The bed seemed to have developed the same case of hugeness the couch had, though, and Miggs laid there for a while, eventually rolling onto his side and clutching a pillow to his chest, trying to ease the ache in it. It didn’t help, and he rolled to the other side of the bed, kicking out his legs and sprawling diagonally across the mattress. That didn’t really do anything either, and eventually Miggs rolled over and saw his phone sitting on his bedside table. He didn’t remember taking it out of his jacket pocket before he’d fallen asleep last night, but he must have. Slowly reaching out, Miggs pulled it off the table and turned it on. His screen lit up with a few notification boxes. A couple of students had emailed him, and there’d been a build-up of emails in his Mystery account as well. 

He had three texts from Peter. 

Miggs didn’t expand that box for a while, staring at it blankly before putting his phone face down on the mattress next to him and squeezing his eyes shut. He didn’t want to read what Peter had said, his justified fury and blame. Miggs moved the phone back to the table and left it there, rolling away to bury his face in a pillow and let it soak up the tears that slowly leaked from between his closed eyes. He fell asleep a little while later, but it wasn’t peaceful or dreamless. 

After the third time waking up drenched in sweat with his heart pounding, Miggs gave up on sleeping and crawled back out of bed. His alarm clock read the early hours of the morning, so Miggs dragged himself into the shower. He hadn’t taken one since the last in their cabin on the ship, and he was starting to feel a little grungy. 

Miggs sat motionless under the spray for a long time, staring down between his feet with his elbows braced on his knees. The shower seat wasn’t the most comfortable and his ass fell asleep after a bit, but he just closed his eyes and let water run over him until he felt a little bit less like screaming. The water slowly began to cool, so he mechanically worked shampoo and conditioner through his hair and gave his body a half-decent scrub and got out of the shower. He dressed as he usually would for work, and inspected his knuckle. The swelling had gone down though it was still sore, and with a moment of inspiration, he pulled out the bottle of lube from his bedside drawer. He went back in the bathroom, drizzling lube over his finger in the sink and then trying one more time to pry it off. He scratched himself a couple times and nearly punched the mirror in the process, but with a bit of a scrape and a hint of pain, his wedding ring finally came off. 

Miggs stared down at it in his right palm, and the awkwardly naked-looking opposite hand, breathing a little hard. He slowly set the ring down on the counter and automatically washed his hands clean of lube. He still felt naked as he called the school around when the administration office was supposed to be open. No one answered the first time and he redialed for a second and then a third time before anyone picked up. 

“Hullo,” said the dull, tired voice on the other end of the line. Miggs wanted to be mean, so he was, snapping about answering one’s phone when it rang before informing them he was back early from his vacation and would be showing up for classes today. The administrator hummed and uh-huhed their way through the conversation and Miggs wondered if his sub or students would even know he was coming before he got there. He decided it didn’t matter. If he spent another day in his apartment like yesterday he may end up accidentally killing himself, and who knew what sort of foolishness he’d end up doing if he tried to do any work as Mystery. No, out of his options, work at the college was his best bet, the safest course. 

Packing his bag for the day on autopilot and doing his best to put on a stiff upper lip, Miggs left his apartment, wondering if all divorcees felt like this or just the stupid ones like him that got married and divorced in less than a week. 

Miggs buried himself in paperwork in his office for the morning, working through the backlog that had gathered during his absence and anything he’d neglected to get to before he’d left. By the time afternoon rolled around and he was supposed to resume his day-to-day grind, he felt exhausted again, like he hadn’t slept a wink for days. 

The sub wasn’t there so he guessed they’d gotten the memo, but Miggs’ students were a bit confused to see him. 

“Aren’t you supposed to be on vacation?” they asked, squinting at him when he walked into his classroom. 

“Came back early,” Miggs said, setting his lesson plan down on his desk and rubbing at one eye absently. 

“Looks like he should have stayed late,” someone in the back muttered, earning some stifled laughter. Miggs scowled and looked up with a glare. The class quieted and he turned back to his lesson plan, taking a deep breath before going into his lecture. 

His throat was a little sore from how much he’d wept the last couple of days and he had to stop more often than usual to cough or take a sip of water while his students hastily took notes, but after a while he felt a little better. This was normal, this was good, he knew how to do this. He went through the rest of his afternoon easily, if a little slowly. His body ached with the lingering traces of his grief, and he wondered if it was obvious to his students, who were a little quieter than usual as they whispered with each other. 

By late afternoon when the last of his classes left, Miggs sat in his chair and sighed, leaning back and shutting his eyes to relax for a minute. 

He didn’t mean to fall asleep, and Miggs woke when he felt someone stroking his hair. Stirring, he blinked open his eyes and found Peter standing next to him, bag slung over one shoulder and giving Miggs a fond smile when he noticed he was awake. Peter hesitated before pulling back, tilting his head a little when Miggs groaned. Miggs sat forward and Peter pulled back, looking a bit confused when Miggs glanced up and flushed before looking away again. 

“Hey,” Miggs rasped, and Peter frowned at him some more, reaching out to try to cup Miggs’ jaw. Miggs ducked away, heart beating fast in his chest. “You…you don’t have to do that.” Miggs whispered, not daring to look up at Peter. “Just…back to normal, yeah? Everything’s fine.” Miggs glanced up when Peter didn’t move, and Miggs felt his stomach sink when Peter looked like he’d been caught by surprise. So it was that obvious Miggs had spent the last couple days in absolute misery, pining after someone who had trusted him and whom Miggs had failed. Miggs quickly got to his feet and started packing his bag, not looking at Peter as Miggs’ face burned with shame. 

“S-so is it raining? I can give you a ride,” Miggs asked, awkwardly digging around in his bag for nothing in particular, not wanting to watch Peter’s face as he realized why Miggs was acting weird, when he realized Miggs was in love with him, that he hadn’t just been faking it on the ship. Miggs didn’t want to watch as Peter recoiled from him. 

When Peter didn’t answer or even really move, Miggs risked a glance over at him. 

Peter was standing where Miggs had left him, staring a little blankly down at the ground, face pinched with an emotion Miggs couldn’t quite put a name to beyond some relative of pain. Miggs wilted, staring down into the depths of his backpack as he tried to think of a way to at least salvage their friendship. 

“Uh, um, even if it’s not raining I can give you a ride home,” Miggs stammered, and after a second Peter finally looked up, face changing to a carefully controlled smile, a little too cheery to be genuine. He nodded and Miggs swallowed against the lump of despair in his throat. 

“Okay. Uh. Let’s go then,” Miggs mumbled, shouldering his bag and brushing past Peter and his false cheer to walk to his car. Peter radiated careful relaxation and calm the entire drive to his apartment, which put Miggs on edge. He held the steering wheel so tight his knuckles ached and paled, and when he pulled up in front of Peter’s apartment, Peter climbed out with barely any semblance of goodbye. 

Feeling sick to his stomach, Miggs drove home and crawled into bed, wondering why it was even possible to fuck up your life so badly in such a short amount of time. 

The next week felt like torture. Miggs moved from devastated to mopey, and from there to frustrated. He was on edge after a few days of steady,  _ good  _ sex, sex with  _ Peter _ , to being completely celibate again, and even masturbation did little to take the edge off. It didn’t help that once Miggs’ initial grief faded, he forgot to keep himself in line around Peter. He kept reaching out to take Peter’s hand before remembering and yanking back. It was embarrassing that every time Peter was near him he tipped his head back for a kiss, and Miggs struggled not to press up against Peter and beg for his touch. Peter seemed to be trying to kick his act as well, sometimes reaching for Miggs when he thought Miggs wasn’t looking, but always drawing away when he caught himself. It made Miggs’ heart hurt to see that, so he always pretended he didn’t notice. 

Miggs got the papers from O.W.C.A. and the courthouse to finalize his divorce from Peter in the mail, and stared at them on his table for a while before decided to deal with that particular snarl of emotions later. Later became another week, and then two. Eventually he just tossed the papers, knowing they’d send him more. He’d sign them then. 

He tossed out the next several copies as well, trying not to let guilt churn in his gut. Peter got fidgety when Miggs awkwardly mentioned that he’d gotten the papers, but hadn’t signed them yet. He cited laziness, and Peter shrugged, apparently uncaring. Miggs struggled with a bit of guilt as he threw away the next set as well. Peter didn’t care. Peter had gotten back to his life as soon as they’d landed in Seattle, and here Miggs was, almost a month later, still pining after him like an  _ idiot _ .

  
  


**Notes for the Chapter:**

> lmk if i missed any brackets or mistakes!! <3 thanks for reading ;3c


	27. Chapter 27

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Second to last chapter yall ;0c for those of you who loved ian im glad u exist bc i actually didnt decide to write this chapter until last minute. I felt like i left ian a bit like a loose end? And it allows miggs to round out the grieving arc hes been working thru ;O enjoy~

Getting a visitor’s pass for O.W.C.A.traz was a pain in the ass, and Miggs had to call in a favor and a half to get a hold of one. And once he got a hold of it, for a while he was too nervous to use it. After a couple of self pep-talks that had him both angry and embarrassed at himself, Miggs managed to make the trip to O.W.C.A.traz, using the fourth helicopter he’d been commissioned to build by the crazy queen-nectar villain from the Tri-State Area. She hadn’t crashed the third one yet, but had learned to keep a backup ordered and ready to ship, so he figured she wouldn’t mind him taking it out for a test drive. 

_ “Owkuh tower, helicopter 554SH, ten west, landing with Delta,”  _ Miggs clicked on his mic to say as he guided the heli through the beginnings of a landing pattern, releasing it to a moment of silence. 

_ “Cleared to land, 554, contact ground,” _ a flustered but struggling for professional voice clicked through the headphones with a bit of background noise. Miggs acknowledged it and went through the landing pattern, coming to hover a couple yards off the heli pad. 

_ “Cleared to land, 554,”  _ Control repeated, and Miggs quickly clicked his mic back on, frowning at the multiple security guards gathering off the end of the landing square. 

_ “Owkuh tower, helicopter 554SH, clear 28L at Bravo for transient parking,” _ Miggs requested, knowing it would be harder for the guards to rush him that way. 

_ “Denied, 554, please contact ground,”  _ Control replied and Miggs groaned. Maybe flying the villain-tech heli into O.W.C.A. airspace hadn’t been the  _ best  _ idea. 

Miggs carefully dropped the helicopter to the ground, shutting the whole thing down before pulling off his headset and setting it on the seat beside him. Climbing out of the cab, Miggs reached into his coat pocket to pull out the obnoxiously yellow and elementary-school-levels of graphic design visitor’s pass. 

“Don’t get worked up, I’ve got—” Miggs’ words broke off as one of the security guards tackled him. “For fuck’s sake!” Miggs barked, almost all the wind knocked out of him by the heft of the guard taking him down. “I’ve got a fucking  _ visitor’s pass, _ you idiot!” The guard paused and then suspiciously tugged the pass out of Miggs’ pocket to inspect it. After a second he grimaced and climbed off Miggs, letting him climb to his feet. Miggs snatched the pass out of his hands to hang it around his own neck, hoping the bright yellow badge against his dark turtleneck and coat would prevent him from getting tackled again. 

“Jesus Christ,” Miggs grumbled, dusting off his ass and chest, reaching up to tug the mask over his head back into place as he followed the security back into the main body of the prison. It probably didn’t help that he was in full villain garb, but he wasn’t walking into an O.W.C.A. facility without a promise of his double identity staying secret. 

Two went with him down to the ground floor, following Miggs to the security guard working in there at a computer. Miggs was scowling as he walked up to the curly-haired, plump woman manning the desk, fingers flying over her keyboard. 

“How can I help you?” she asked without looking at him, and Miggs lifted his visitor’s pass. 

“Here to see Ian Keller, also under Scarlet Scorpion,” Miggs said and she nodded, barely glancing his way to check the pass. 

“He’s in Ward 9, room 4b,” she said after a second. Miggs pressed his mouth into a line, completely unaware as to where anything in the whole damn prison was. The only reason he’d found his way to the lobby was because it’d been listed on the button in the elevator. Turning around, Miggs put his hands on his hips and scowled at the two security that had followed him here. They exchanged an awkward glance as he glared at them. 

“Well? Where is that? If you’re going to be shadowing me the whole time I’m here, might as well make this easier on all of us and make sure that time’s short,” Miggs snapped, throwing up his hands. The security winced and then nodded, one of them waving her hand for Miggs to follow her as the other dropped behind him as they walked. The first security guard took Miggs out the front door of the building and along a cement pathway to another building, marked with a large black nine mounted on the outside brick. From there it was past another security desk, the man minding it squinting at Miggs’ visitor’s pass before granting them access to the elevator. From there it was up to the fourth floor, and the first security guard gestured at the room marked with a letter B. 

Miggs stared at it for a long minute, clenching and unclenching his fists by his sides. 

He didn’t even know if Ian wanted to see him. 

“Hey, you going in or what?” the second security guard asked after a minute with a grunt, and she glared at Miggs when he turned to scowl at her. 

“Of course I’m going in,” he snapped, grabbing the door knob and twisting it. It clicked and he pushed, almost stumbling when the door gave way. 

The room inside was a little plain, with brick walls painted a soft beige, a single, narrow bed on a frame built into the wall and floor right in front of him. Miggs looked to his right and there was a curtain surrounding one corner, probably the toilet and shower, and a very old, small TV on an upturned plastic crate,  with a man sitting in a solid steel chair, the pillow from the bed tucked underneath him. 

Ian Keller blinked at Miggs a few times, frowning a little as one of the security guards stepped into the doorway behind them, hands loose at her sides and staring into the middle distance to give them the slightest sense of privacy while also closely monitoring their interaction. 

Miggs winced and cleared his throat awkwardly, straightening up to tug at the collar of his turtleneck. 

“Uhm. Uh,” Miggs said after a second, clearing his throat again as Ian sat up, bracing his elbows on his knees, one eyebrow lifting towards his fly-away hair. It looked a little like the iconic Einstein mop, wispy and far less groomed than he’d been several weeks ago. 

“What can I help you with, son?” Ian said after a long minute of Miggs being unable to articulate who he was or why he was there, or even do much more than stutter. 

Miggs took a steadying breath, shutting his eyes and squeezing his hands into fists, trying to gather his wits. He didn’t  _ know  _ Ian would hate him. Or if he would even remember him. O.W.C.A. was taking care of him medically, he was too old and sick to be of much use to them, so Miggs had been informed he was kept mostly in solitary due to the nature of his arrest. But that was no guarantee he’d remember Miggs as easily as he had before the traumatic loss of everything good in his life. 

“I’m. Pleading the fifth,” Miggs said after a second, turning to the O.W.C.A. guard, who glared at him. “Please. Clean record, and it’s only for secret identity reasons. Thirty seconds.” The guard glared at him, but Professor Mystery had never been known to visit a prison before, let alone break someone out of one, so she huffed and nodded, switching her gaze to the wall and tucking a couple plugs in her ears from her pocket. The agent held up three fingers, and Miggs knew she was counting down his thirty seconds of complete privacy. 

“Ian Keller, I am the villain Professor Mystery, and if you remember me at all hopefully you’ll recognize me by my actual name,” Miggs stepped a little closer to Ian and reached up to pull his mask up and over his face, some of his curls spilling over his forehead as he gave Ian a hesitant smile, “Miggs Ortega. I’m Bernie Ortega’s son.” Ian stared up at him for a minute, frowning and his mouth working as he apparently struggled for words. 

His privacy time ran out and Miggs quickly pulled his mask back over his face. Ian kept frowning at him, reaching up to rub at his beard. 

“Bernie, Bernie, I knew a Bernie…” Ian wagged his finger, looking away as he mumbled, apparently thinking hard. 

“Yes,” Miggs said, heart aching. 

“Bernie’s boy…” Ian scowled and then brightened a bit. “Plasma globe.” 

“Yes!” Miggs said again, crouching down where Ian was sitting in his chair with a relieved grin. “At Christmas.” 

“Yes, the tooth gap,” Ian said after a second of thought. “Your mom had it, too. Bernice?” 

“Denise,” Miggs corrected. “It’s okay, I’m just…I’m just glad you remember me at all.” Ian harrumphed, rubbing his chin and looking at Miggs curiously. 

“I do, I do, just…what’re you doing  _ here? _ ” Ian asked slowly. “Haven’t seen you since….Christ, a long time.” 

“Actually…actually you just saw me a couple weeks ago, Uncle Ian,” Miggs said weakly. “Just before you came here.” Ian frowned, hand going still on his chin. 

“Oh.  _ Oh _ . I…oh.” Ian paled a little, jerking in his seat as he sat up straighter. “ _ Oh _ . You were there.” 

“Yeah,” Miggs whispered, wilting a little, hands falling to his lap as he sat on his knees. “Yeah. I was.” 

“Why are you here?” Ian asked after a second, and Miggs didn’t look up at him, trying to swallow the thick feeling in his throat. 

“To…to say I’m sorry? I fucked up Uncle Ian, this is all my fault. All of it. Elise, you being in here,  _ Peter— _ …all of it. And I’m so sorry.” Miggs grit his teeth when his voice broke a little. He didn’t want to cry, to show that sort of weakness in front of the security guards, but God, he  _ hurt _ , deep inside his chest cavity, like an ice pick had been lodged in the deepest recesses of his lungs. 

Silence reigned for a minute, the quiet murmur of the ancient TV hardly more than a hum comparable to the light bulbs above their heads. 

“You have nothing to be sorry for, Em,” Ian sighed, reaching out to put his weathered hand on the side of Miggs’ head. “Elise was…who she was. Stubborn beyond all things, and she was always more cut out for villainy than I was. I think. It’s a little blurry.” Ian frowned when Miggs looked up at him, blinking tears out of his eyes. “She could be a right  _ mean  _ thing when she wanted to be, I know for one. You did what you could.” Ian patted Miggs’ shoulder as he stared up at him in disbelief. 

“No I didn’t,” Miggs whispered, tightening his hands into fists in his lap. “I failed. I messed up, I-I-I left my phone and Peter couldn’t warn me and—it was all my fault.” Miggs’ breath caught with a couple wet breaths, feeling even more stupid now than he had when he’d had this breakdown the first time. He’d finally worked up the guts to check Peter’s texts last week, and they hadn’t been anything Miggs had expected. 

**_Keller inbound, get out of there._ **  
**_MIGGS_ **  
**_Dont worry im coming 4 u_ **

Miggs didn’t know how to feel about them yet. 

Ian shook his head, squinting a little and patting at the collar of his shirt for glasses that were pushed up into his hair. After pulling them down in order to see Miggs better, Ian shook his head again, pushing one fist against Miggs’ jaw in a fond gesture from a million years ago when Miggs was still losing his baby teeth, a mock punch to the jaw. 

“She never would’ve gone quiet, Em,” Ian sighed. “Didn’t come into my life quiet, didn’t leave it quiet, didn’t do a damn thing quietly. Even the flyers screamed villainy.  _ Killer  _ Kruise, she thought that was so funny.” Miggs could see Ian drifting a little, and he brought his attention back with a slight cough in the back of his throat. 

“She didn’t have to die,” Miggs whispered, shame burning in his gut. 

“No. But that was my choice, not yours,” Ian said, patting Miggs’ shoulder again before leaning back in his chair to scratch at his stomach, looking a little lost. “She would have blamed you, too.” Miggs pressed his mouth closed, swallowing a lump in his throat. Elise  _ had  _ blamed him, he remembered. For Ian not crawling back to her when she’d left him, for giving him family and a sense of purpose that didn’t revolve around her. For coming in and uncovering her little plot on the cruise, for threatening Ian’s trust in her. 

“Wasn’t your fault,” Ian sighed again. “You did what you could. You shouldn’t take the boy with you.” 

“What?” Miggs asked, startled, looking up. Ian was staring down at his hands, frowning. 

“I forgot what we were talking about,” Ian said slowly. “But Bernie, I’ve been thinking, and you shouldn’t take him with you.” Miggs stared, mouth falling open a little and something cold aching in his guts. 

“I’m not my father, Ian,” Miggs said softly, reaching out to touch Ian’s knee and bringing his attention back from his scrambled memories. 

Ian looked up and twitched a bit in surprise. 

“No, no I suppose you’re not Bernie,” he laughed awkwardly, tugging at his earlobe nervously. “Sorry, what were we talking about?” 

“Just…” Miggs said weakly, swallowing when Ian gave him a confused look. “Christmas. And the plasma globe.” 

“Oh, you’re Bernie’s son, that’s right!” Ian said, smacking his knee. “Which Christmas was that? Before or after I gave you the bomb kit?” Miggs smiled weakly, remembering Denise’s reaction to the device being in the hands of her eight year old. 

“Before,” Miggs said, and Ian nodded. 

“I knew that, I knew that,” he said, giving Miggs a wink. “Was testing you.” 

“Of course,” Miggs said softly, wondering how much Elise’s tampering had messed with Ian’s brain, already addled by Alzheimer’s. He seemed to be on a rapid, sliding scale of memory retention, each moment to the next a different amount of his mind being allowed to communicate with the rest.

Miggs’ legs fell asleep as he sat and talked with Ian for almost an hour, heart aching and lifting in his chest in almost equal measures. Ian drifted in and out of lucidity, sometimes remembering Miggs completely, sometimes not at all. Sometimes just as Bernie’s son, and sometimes just as someone who had been there at the death of his wife. 

Miggs cried, but it was a silent streaking of tears from his eyes to the fabric of his mask, and went unnoticed. 

“I’ll see you again soon,” Miggs said when the guard indicated that it was time for Miggs to leave. 

“Oh, sure!” Ian said, looking a little bewildered but happy. Miggs replied with a soft smile and a hand on Ian’s shoulder before turning to leave and letting the guards escort him back to the helicopter landing pad. As he communicated with Control to leave, Miggs decided that weekly visits would be a good idea. Maybe he could atone a bit for landing Ian in prison for the rest of his life by making sure at least that he wasn’t completely  _ alone  _ to boot. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Lmk if i missed any mistakes or brackets!
> 
> Ps ive flown planes but never helicopters so im sorry if miggs flight and communications w the tower are inaccurate i did my best with google and were all here for funsies anyway


	28. Chapter 28

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> LAST CHAPTER YALL ARE YOU EXCITED actually literally all of you who have commented say youre sAD AND IM SORRY but hopefully this is a satisfying enough ending for you, at least when it comes to this story. <3 
> 
> into the breach for the last time, dear friends. <3

The knock at Miggs’ front door was unexpected, and he frowned, looking up from where he had this week’s set of essays spread out on his coffee table to grade as Cutthroat Kitchen played, a show that only further confirmed Miggs’ theory that Alton Brown was just as much a villain as Miggs was, if not more so. 

Miggs slid the chain on his door into place and set his other hand on the sleek, villain-tech stunner sitting on the counter by the door, out of sight as he pulled it open to see who was there.

It was Peter, who was glowering down at his feet, a couple white plastic takeout bags in his hands. 

“Peter?” Miggs said in surprise, and Peter looked up, giving him a hesitant smile. Peter lifted the takeout bags, a bit of paper held in between a couple of his fingers. It looked like maybe the receipt from wherever he’d gotten food, with a note scrawled on the blank side with a ballpoint pen. 

**_It’s been awhile since we’ve had a movie night. Hope u haven’t eaten yet._ **

“No, no, I uh, I didn’t even realize it was late enough for dinner, hang on,” Miggs shut the door to take down the chain, shoving the stunner behind his microwave to hide it. A quick glance at the clock as he yanked the door open to let Peter in said it was almost seven PM, a little late, but not ridiculously so to eat dinner. He was a bit glad Peter had come over, he probably would have ended up just eating popcorn and soda before going to bed. 

Peter gave him a relieved, genuine smile, brushing past Miggs when he stepped out of the way to let Peter in. Peter paused at the cluttered coffee table, and Miggs dove past him, hurrying to scoop up the essays he’d been grading so there was space for the food Peter had brought. 

“Sorry, sorry about the mess, I’ve uh, been busy catching up with work and stuff, and y’know,” Miggs stammered, suddenly very aware of the state his apartment was in. The sink was full of unwashed dishes (oh God, he wasn’t even sure if he had any clean cutlery to eat the food Peter had brought with him), the garbage stuffed full of food trash and crumpled up papers, jackets and shoes and his ties from the last week tossed carelessly around when he took them off once he got home. Miggs dropped the stack of essays on one end of the coffee table, muttering more apologies as he gathered up the coffee cups and stack of plates he’d left there from the last couple days, knocking into a few pieces of crumpled papers and napkins. 

Miggs hurried the dishes to his kitchen, trying not to feel too self-conscious about how clearly his apartment reflected his apathy and depression as he dropped the dishes on the counter next to the sink. He went back into the living room to find Peter had set the bags down on the table, and was sitting on the love seat, staring at where Miggs’ wedding ring was sitting. Miggs froze, staring at it, too. He’d crumpled it up inside the latest set of divorce papers the courthouse had sent him, but hadn’t thrown them away, knowing it was because he didn’t want to throw out the ring inside them. When Miggs had knocked into the napkins and papers, it’d fallen loose, right in front of Peter. 

“Uh, oh, I’d forgotten about that,” Miggs laughed, voice a little too high and cracking a little with the lie. Face and ears burning, desperate to play it cool, Miggs found himself inevitably springing forward to scoop up the papers and ring and garbage, a panicked titter of a laugh catching in his throat as he spun back around to the trash. Miggs’ shoulders climbed towards his ears as he poked the napkins and courthouse papers into the can, being careful to keep the ring, tucking it into his pocket instead. 

“S-so, uh, you wanna have a movie night? That’s cool, we can do that, I didn’t have anything planned,” Miggs said, clearing his throat as he rocked from heel to toe with his hands tucked into his pockets. The ring bumped at the tips of his fingers and he fisted his hands as he awkwardly turned around to look at Peter, who was giving him an odd look. 

Miggs had never made much of the fact that outside of Peter, he had no social life, because it had never bothered Miggs before. He didn’t enjoy large amounts of social interaction, so he didn’t need many friends, and he was often too much of an asshole to gather more than a couple in the first place. 

Peter was the only person Miggs called  _ friend  _ that he ever saw in person beside the weekly visits to Ian on Friday afternoons, so it was a bit silly to think that Miggs might have had other plans on a Thursday night. On the other hand, Miggs  _ really  _ didn’t want Peter to think Miggs was still hung up on him. He hadn’t texted Peter much, and really only seen Peter in passing at work. Miggs hadn’t even done anything as Mystery since he’d gotten back, so desperate to avoid Peter thinking Miggs was chasing after him. 

A long, drawn out pause that just started to get awkward broke when Peter shrugged, a little pink as he looked away to start unpacking the food he’d brought. Miggs rocked at the knees nervously for a second before deciding he looked stupid standing by the trash can, and went to sit on the couch next to Peter. He almost wanted to laugh hysterically as the bit of furniture, which had felt far too big for ages now, suddenly felt comically small. 

Peter was very close, handing Miggs a pair of chopsticks, gesturing at the remote so he could pick one of the Space Adventure spin-off movies from Miggs’ list, smiling a little nervously at him. Miggs tried not to stare like an idiot, but it was hard. He hadn’t seen Peter outside of the college for weeks, and it’d been even longer since they’d been alone together for any stretch of time longer than a carpool to and from their jobs. 

He wanted to throw himself on Peter and hug him until Miggs felt like he could breathe again. 

Miggs flushed and looked down at his lap as Peter selected the Space Adventure movie about the sharks and time travel, fiddling with his unopened chopsticks for a few minutes. Peter handed him a box of food and a peek inside told Miggs it was lo mein that Peter had cooked and stuck in to-go boxes. Feeling his heart tighten a little, Miggs slowly dug into the food, letting out a sound of appreciation after the first few delicious bites. 

“I’ve been eating so much pizza,” Miggs admitted and Peter rolled his eyes. “You know I can’t cook. You were the only thing keeping me from surviving off chips and McDonald’s.” Peter hummed, playfully nudging Miggs so he’d continue eating. 

They’d seen this movie a good dozen times, and Miggs cracked the same old joke he always did when the main character did the stupid thing that set off the rest of the movie’s plot. Peter snorted a laugh, coughing a little when he nearly choked on his own vegetarian meal. Miggs automatically turned to thump him on the back and Peter nodded and waved his hand. Miggs ran a hand affectionately down Peter’s back without thinking and then blushed and yanked his hand away when Peter went still. 

They stared at the TV for a little bit, awkward tension pooling between them. Miggs wanted to lean into Peter, curl up against him, reach out and take his hand. He wanted to press him into the couch and kiss him until his eyes crossed and his breath left him completely. Miggs was almost shaking with restraint, staring at the TV without seeing it as he leaned forward to put his finished dinner on the table in front of him. 

Miggs relaxed again slowly as Peter huffed a laugh at the movie, the two of them slowly settling back into the old routine of enjoying Space Adventure together. 

Miggs’ heart ached, but it was a pleasant ache. The ache of just being in the same space as someone you cared for, and for that to be enough. He laughed and joked a little with Peter as the movie went on, pausing to read when Peter wrote him a note, usually either a pun or response to something Miggs had said. 

It was nice. 

Miggs looked up as Peter rose to snag the trash from their dinner, walking over to throw it away. While he was gone, Miggs traced the outline of the ring in his pocket. This wasn’t too bad. He could do this, he could be friends with Peter. He’d just needed a little time to get used to the pain, to heal from the loss. This was okay. Miggs could do this. 

Miggs looked over when Peter didn’t come back from the kitchen, wondering if Peter was judging the amount of dishes in his sink. 

Instead Peter was staring down at a piece of wrinkled paper he’d tugged from the garbage can. Miggs went still as he realized it was one of the court papers, one he’d begun to fill out before scribbling over the rest of it and throwing it out. 

“Uh, um, I-I-I messed that one up,” Miggs choked out when Peter turned to look at him, expression almost unreadable beyond a slight lifting of his eyebrows. Peter turned back to the trash, tugging another bit of paper free and lifting it to reveal an almost-immaculate copy of the divorce filings. Miggs swallowed weakly, wishing he could just sink into the couch and disappear as Peter slowly walked over to him, holding the papers. Miggs felt a bit like he was in the shadow of a noose as Peter set the papers down on the coffee table to pick up his notepad instead, slowly writing out a message. Peter had something similar to his agent face on, carefully neutral, completely controlled as he turned the notepad around for Miggs to read. 

**_Do you want to get divorced?_ **

Miggs felt his stomach sink to his feet, his face turning red and then paling before flushing again. A complicated knot twisted in Miggs’ gut, hot and foul and made up of embarrassment and shame. He wanted to lie, but he knew he wouldn’t be able to make it convincing. He only lied as Mystery, and then only sometimes, and Peter could always see through it, even when Miggs  _ wasn’t  _ an emotional trainwreck. 

“No.” Miggs whispered, staring at the carpet at Peter’s feet instead of at his face. “No, I don’t want to get divorced.” Peter didn’t move, and Miggs looked up to see Peter staring at him, eyes looking a little narrowed as he lifted his hand to drag it over his forehead and then into a fist with pinky and thumb extended.  _ Why?  _

Miggs swallowed weakly, looking at Peter and knowing that there was finally  _ finally  _ nowhere to hide, that he  _ had  _ to tell Peter how he felt. Miggs  _ wanted  _ to tell him. And yet his throat felt like it closed around the words every time Miggs met his gaze. 

“I…” Miggs’ breath caught and he exhaled weakly, looking away for a long minute. He wanted to tell Peter how he felt. He didn’t want to lose Peter, but he wanted Peter to know. Telling Ian how he felt had helped the grief. Perhaps letting Peter go with this would ease that pain as well. 

Miggs turned his head to look at Peter, who was staring at him with focused, calculating eyes. Miggs grimaced and held up his hands in half a shrug. 

“I’m in love with you,” Miggs said, and it came out almost like a question, a weak laugh following it. “I love you, Peter. Since long before the cruise. For years. Almost since we found out we were nemeses.” Peter didn’t move, hand wavering a little where he was holding up his notepad. His mouth fell open a bit as Miggs got to his feet, snagging one of the divorce papers and looking down at it with another broken little laugh. 

“I just…I knew you weren’t interested, so I didn’t ever say anything and then I took advantage of the cruise and fucked everything up and I just…I’m sorry,” Miggs said weakly, grimacing against the bite of tears in his eyes. He’d cried so much lately. More than he’d cried since he was a child. It made the knot in his gut twist unpleasantly. 

Miggs’ stomach swooped suddenly when Peter dropped the notepad to grab him, looking both furious and devastated. Miggs flinched, but Peter just hauled him closer and grabbed the back of Miggs’ head to kiss him. It was brief, a firm, slightly damp press of Peter’s mouth to his, but it was definitely a kiss. 

They broke apart and stared at each other for a second, and Miggs saw Peter’s mouth starting to twitch up into a smile at the look on Miggs’. 

“Does that mean you don’t want to get divorced either?” Miggs asked, voice thready and almost a whisper. Peter laughed and nodded, hands sliding into Miggs’ hair and around his waist to pull him closer. Miggs’ heart was racing in his chest as he wrapped his arms around Peter’s shoulders. Peter pressed a kiss to Miggs’ mouth, quick and soft because apparently both of them were grinning but it didn’t matter, Miggs still felt breathless when they pulled apart. 

“Does this mean you…you…” Miggs whispered, fear making everything in him quiver. “Peter, do you love me?” Peter’s gaze softened, and he tugged Miggs’ head closer to push their foreheads together. Peter let out a long, slow breath, a smile curling at the corners of his mouth. Peter nodded. 

Miggs let out a strangled noise, clutching at Peter’s shoulders. 

“Oh,  _ God  _ are we the biggest idiots on the planet,” Miggs choked, and Peter nodded again, breaking up into huffing laughter as he pulled Miggs tight to his body, lifting him off his feet a little to spin them around a couple times. Miggs let out something that could have been a laugh, possibly a sob, and started peppering kisses over Peter’s face, kissing every inch of him he could reach. 

“I love you,” Miggs said between every kiss, grabbing Peter’s jaw to kiss him on the mouth over and over, reveling in the freedom to do so, because he wanted to, because  _ Peter  _ wanted to. “I love you, I love you, oh my God, Peter.” Peter nodded and squeezed Miggs tight, cupping his jaw to pull Miggs into a slower, deeper kiss that made Miggs’ stomach tighten, a thrill running through him. Peter pulled back with a soft look on his face, thumb stroking over Miggs’ cheekbone. 

“When are you moving in,” Miggs asked with his eyes closed, and Peter paused before he laughed. “Asshole, we are not married and living apart! You spoiled me on that fucking ship, I haven’t had a decent night’s sleep since we got back.” Peter hummed and ran his hand down Miggs’ side to pick up his notepad again. Miggs pulled back a little to let Peter write, who showed him his response a moment later. 

**_When I tell Hoff to cancel papers. Tomorrow. 1st thing tomorrow. But first I want to make sure u get no sleep at all._ **

Miggs blinked, mouth falling open to express his slight confusion at the last bit, but Peter just tossed the notebook aside and reached out for Miggs again, pulling him in to kiss him, slow and wet and hungry, his hands wandering down to grab at Miggs’ ass. 

“ _ Oh. _ ” Miggs said, suddenly understanding, and Peter’s mouth curved against Miggs’ lips in a wicked smile that Miggs couldn’t help but return, slowly wrapping his arms around his husband’s neck to kiss him back. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> lmk if i missed any [brackets] or mistakes!! :0 i'm rly lazy abt betaing my own stuff haha :') 
> 
> also, since hyp is now over, im probably gonna start working on publishing and finishing another long shot of panda shrine ;0 so if you're looking forward to that im probably gonna hold a bit of a vote to help me to decide which one to do (i have a lot of wips and au ideas rip) some of the ones i think would be fun to do is a vampire!miggs au, a star wars au (this one is v fun imo), an Overboard au (it's a movie from like. 1987. patrons know which au this is they've read the first 10ish chapters ;3) a teen!au, various has babies aus, and of course kaleidoscope (which is to be renamed and stuff it's an abo au that is currently sitting at about 200k but needs A LOT of editing before its ready to post)....TLDR I HAVE A LOT OF FICS I WANT TO SHARE so i'll probably be askin for yalls help in deciding which one to pursue next and you can get in on that by following me @pandashrine on tumblr or twitter ;0c
> 
> as far as hyp goes, this is the end!! hopefully you enjoyed it <3 <3 i may do some one-shots in-universe, probably more peter-pov chapters if people are interested but otherwise, this particular fake married trope au has come to an end <3 thank you so much for reading and sticking with it for so long, i have treasured every comment and kudos this fic has gathered from you guys and i just. i love yall so much thanks for giving this rarest of rare pairs a chance <3


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